Maiden Statements

Members, in accordance with a determination of the Business Committee, we will now have maiden statements. Following the maiden statements, the House will adjourn until 2 p.m. on 13 February 2024. I call on Todd Stephenson to make his maiden statement.

Thank you, Madam Speaker, and can I wish you a happy New Year, and all the best for your family in 2024.

Can I congratulate the Rt Hon Christopher Luxon on leading the National Party into Government and becoming New Zealand’s 42nd Prime Minister. The Prime Minister, like me, has gained experience working in the corporate sector, and I hope this stands us both in good stead to help deliver real change for New Zealand. To the Rt Hon Winston Peters, congratulations on leading New Zealand First back into Parliament and Government. People can say many things about the current Deputy Prime Minister and foreign Minister, but you can’t question his commitment to public service. Congratulations to all the National Party and New Zealand First MPs elected. I look forward to working with all of you over the course of this Government.

Now, that brings me to the ACT team. To the Hon David Seymour, with the 2023 election, you have firmly cemented your place in ACT history. Having already rebuilt the party to a multi-MP caucus in 2020, we returned in 2023, with more MPs and an additional electorate—good work, Brooke. On top of that, ACT is, for the first time, sitting around the Cabinet table with a significant number of Ministers. The Catholics have saints; in ACT, we have what some of us like to call “icons”. These are people like Sir Roger Douglas and the Hon Derek Quigley, who founded the party; Brian Nicolle, who built it; the Hon Richard Prebble, who led it into Parliament; and Catherine Isaac, who anchored it in classical liberalism. David, your place as an ACT icon is now assured. I also want to thank you—

Hon David Seymour: You also said I’m history!

TODD STEPHENSON: —not yet!—for all the support, encouragement, and advice that you have given me and continue to give me.

This election has delivered an extremely talented group of ACT MPs with different backgrounds, experiences, skills, strengths, and approaches. I couldn’t be prouder to sit alongside Cameron, Laura, Parmjeet, Simon, Mark, Andrew, Karen, Nicole, Brooke, and David. I’ve never felt so welcomed and supported within a team, and I know I’m going to learn so much from each of you.

To the ACT staff here in Wellington, and in Auckland, thank you for everything you do for us to ensure we can deliver for voters. Without you, the ACT team wouldn’t be effective as a party or in Parliament.

To the ACT board, members, and supporters, thank you. It is only with your hard work and the efforts of volunteers that a political party can campaign, grow, and thrive. It is your efforts that have delivered the ACT team to Parliament and into Government, and you should be proud.

To the almost quarter of a million New Zealanders who voted ACT, thank you. We don’t take lightly the trust you have placed in us to deliver a better Government for New Zealand. I hope the start we are making lives up to your decision to support us. I also want to give a special shout-out to the electorate of Southland where I stood, and which delivered a very strong party vote for us.

To the new and returning members on the other side of the House, congratulations. It is important for our democracy that people are still prepared to stand for Parliament and to take on this unique role. I look forward to working with all MPs over this term.

So I stand here as the 30th ACT MP elected to this House. Given that we’ve only had 10 MMP elections, being an ACT MP in one of the world’s only classical liberal parties with elected representatives is a rare and unique opportunity.

How did I end up here? Was it something I’d planned to do for many years? Well, the truth is, actually, no. I have a reasonably simple approach to life: when an opportunity presents itself, grab it.

I think this approach, to some extent, might have been shaped by my family and upbringing. I was born in Lumsden, Southland; my parents, at the time, were living in Te Ānau. I very much enjoyed during the election campaign people coming up and telling me they were also born in Lumsden. I actually recently discovered there’s a Wikipedia page dedicated to people born in Lumsden, and I’m on it!

My parents had met in Te Ānau a few years earlier, my mother working as a hostess on a boat taking people to the glow worm caves, and my dad as a cave guide. While Te Ānau was my mother’s hometown, my dad had come there to teach at the local school. He had grown up in Dunedin with his younger sister Elaine, and my paternal grandparents, Martin and Kath Stephenson, who were Scottish; their families having come to New Zealand a generation before. My mother’s parents, Alf and Thelma Excell, were of English descent, and after they were married had moved to Te Ānau to become some of the town’s first full-time residents. It was there that they had three daughters: my mother, Dawn, and her two younger sisters, Lynne and Cheryl.

Before starting their families, both of my grandfathers, Alf and Martin, served in World War II overseas. My grandmother Thelma had also served in the Women’s Royal New Zealand Navy. That conflict remains a defining moment in our history, and including our own. It’s because of the service and sacrifice of so many that we can stand in this House today and enjoy the freedoms that they fought for. I’d like to think my grandparents would be more than a little chuffed to have their grandson here as an MP. I have many fond memories of growing up spending time with my grandparents in both Dunedin and Te Ānau.

For a kid growing up in Southland, Dunedin seemed like a big city, with its tall buildings, shops, and hydro-slide. I continue to have a fondness for Dunedin. It’s where I went to university and I would again return to be admitted to the Bar. I also had the opportunity of practising law with Judith Ablett-Kerr, and that would be one I would cherish for ever—I really appreciate that experience.

Te Ānau would become a second home, particularly during the school holidays. A few years after I was born, my dad accepted a position as the principal of Mimihau School—that’s just outside of Wyndham, and for those not from the South, it’s kind of near Gore. During our time at Mimihau, my brother, Brad, would be born in Gore. He’s actually a bit more of a petrolhead than me, so I wonder if that was the start of it, having been born in Gore—I’m not sure! Mimihau would also mark the start of our own family’s “tour of Southland”. Dad would grab opportunities to advance in his teaching career, often with my mum working at the same school. In addition to Mimihau, this would see us living in Isla Bank in Western Southland and Bluff—right at the bottom of the South Island—before Invercargill. I attended four different schools before I went to high school. Our family made many friends in these communities, some of which we still see today. I have no doubt that the experience of moving school, needing to make new friends, and fit into new environments built a significant amount of resilience which would later assist me in life.

My parents had decided that my brother and I should only attend one high school. So we both attended James Hargest High School—now James Hargest College. I really enjoyed high school. It is actually my recollection that I never had a single sick day during my entire five years—someone’s probably going to check that now. Our high school year group also got on very, very well and I’m delighted to have some of my high school friends here in the gallery today. It was during high school that I became more aware of current events and politics. I grew up during the fourth Labour Government and the significant and necessary changes they made to advance New Zealand.

After high school, I wouldn’t live in Invercargill again, but still consider my hometown. It is where my brother, Brad; his wife, Lizzie; and my three nephews, Scout, Dustin, and Murphy live. Scout is continuing the family tradition of going to James Hargest.

My parents would continue to happily live and work in Invercargill for many more years. Sadly, in 2010, my mother, Dawn, would pass away after a short illness. She was an extremely determined woman, always willing to try something new and ensure my brother and I had a great upbringing. I’m sad she didn’t get to meet her three grandchildren, her numerous nieces and nephews, or my partner, Alex, but her presence is always with us, and I know she would have been extremely proud of what Brad and I have achieved. Dad would eventually leave Invercargill after he retired, moving to Te Anau. He would find love again, marrying Robynne in 2022, and we would gain an extended family. It’s great to have you here, Dad, and also, Robynne, up in the gallery.

In 1993, I went to the University of Otago and studied law, and had the quintessential “scarfie” experience. In the same year as I started university, Sir Roger Douglas had published Unfinished Business and then, along with the Hon Derek Quigley, founded the Association of Consumers and Taxpayers. It was over those early years of university that I discovered what I believed in, that I was a classical liberal, and I found my political party. The ideas of individual freedom and personal responsibility, that the role the State should be limited, that Governments shouldn’t do anything the private sector could do more effectively and efficiently, and of course, low, flat tax—these all resonated with me.

So, while I might have explored my sexuality, trying both sides before picking a team, I’ve never done that with my political parties. I joined ACT New Zealand on its formation and went on to campaign for the party at four general elections, work with it, thanks to Priscilla Tate, and I was twice elected to the ACT Board.

In November this year, ACT will be 30 years old. While it makes me feel a little bit old, it’s a significant achievement that Brooke van Velden, who was only one when the party was formed, has never known a political landscape without ACT. I’m proud only to have ever voted ACT, supporting the party even in the bleakest of times when the liberal flame was almost extinguished.

In 2006, I embraced the opportunity to work overseas and moved to Australia. This would result in an extremely fulfilling career, the majority of which was spent in the medicines sector. The medicines industry is a great example of private investment in the capitalist system. These companies are everyday harnessing science, collaborating with stakeholders, and getting investment to deliver the latest medical treatments. It’s a great example of where the private sector is doing something no Government could or should do. No Government could manage the complexity, let alone accept the considerable cost and risks involved.

My work in the medicines industry also allowed me the opportunity to work with various patient communities, and some of their healthcare professionals. This has been extremely rewarding as I got to understand the day-to-day issues of people living with various diseases, and also learnt the importance of patients having a voice in the healthcare system. Thank you to everyone who works in the health sector and the patient community, particularly those I’ve had the pleasure to work with. I know the difference your efforts are making every day. I’m committed to working with David Seymour to deliver a modern, efficient, and effective medicines access process so Kiwis can get the world’s best treatments. We won’t be able to do this alone and so I look forward to continuing to collaborate with those in the sector.

After my long association with ACT and my background of work in Australia, around the middle of last year a series of conversations took place about me standing. So I reflected on my history with ACT and what I’d learnt in the past 17 years. I’d been responsible for strategy and held leadership roles. I knew about government and public policy. Many times, I’d aligned people on a common goal, developed a strategy to achieve it, and then worked for an outcome. I knew that no company’s place in the world was certain and that to be great, they must continue to innovative, understand their customers and stakeholders, and compete for capital and talent. I thought these could be useful skills and insights to help address the significant challenges that New Zealand faces. And in the end, I didn’t really have a compelling reason to say no—so here I am.

We live in an increasingly complex and global world, and we must ensure New Zealand doesn’t fall further behind its peers. I’m here to play my part in how we rethink how our Government operates and delivers for Kiwis. And while I’ll bring a classical liberal lens, I’m always willing to speak with others who share a desire for a better Government—for a better New Zealand.

Finally, there is one person I do want to talk about: my partner, Alex. Almost 14 years ago, Alex and I met in the way which is now so common: online. Alex is an amazing person: great company, super intelligent, funny, and incredibly kind and caring. He’s also always taken a keen interest in my professional career. He is my greatest advocate, cheerleader, sounding board, and always provides advice and feedback. I got a lot of advice and feedback on my campaign from Alex, and I also look forward to the debrief on this speech tonight. I want to thank Alex’s family: his dad, John; brother, Paul, and wife, Visjna; his nephew, Kiwan; and niece, Talia for welcoming me into the family and also understanding and letting us move back to New Zealand. Thank you, Alex, for joining me on this next chapter of our lives—I love you very much.

While ACT has a number of principles and values, there is one I’d like to read to you all: “Each person must be judged as an individual by reference to the person’s own personality, character and actions and not as a member of a group defined by race, gender, sexuality, religion, political belief or other group characteristic.” So it is on my own merits, as everyone should be, that I want to be judged by my time in this House.

So thanks to everyone who is here to support me today, I really appreciate you coming. And with that, it’s now back to the business of a better Government for a better New Zealand. Thank you, Mr Speaker.

Thank you, Mr Speaker. Over the years, there have been several maiden speeches that have inspired people or moved them to tears. This probably won’t be one of them, but, with luck, you may get a few laughs—got one already.

I have two great-great-great-grandfathers who were members of this House in the early years of our democracy. In preparation for this speech, I did a bit of digging, hoping for some inspiration. One of them was Alfred Saunders. Well, he was quite keen on prohibition, so I struggled to find a lot to agree with there. Universal suffrage, however, I could agree with him on that. There was one comment in a speech of his I did find quite pertinent—and I paraphrase—that “members of this House should try to only speak when they had something useful to add that improved the knowledge of everyone”. I think that’s good advice and probably worth repeating. The other ancestor was William Cargill. Well, apparently, he wasn’t big on talking, he hated Auckland—our capital at the time—and, basically, just wanted Otago and Southland left alone. It’s hardly surprising that Invercargill was named after him and his birthplace.

This leaves me with talking about the subject I least like talking about: myself. Firstly, I would like to thank those friends and family who have taken the time to come here today and listen. I would especially like to acknowledge my wife and daughters, who, rather than miss out on their first day back at school, are watching on TV—[Looks for camera]—wherever the camera is. It meant a lot to me to have them at my swearing-in at Government House. I figured that occasion was worth missing a day of school. Listening to me prattle on for 15 minutes—not so much.

But seriously, I do want to pay a special debt of gratitude to them, because as the other farming members in this House know, you aren’t just leaving your family behind during the week to deal with the usual issues that may come up in the family home but, also, they get to deal with the thousand moving parts that make up a working farm. Such as the herd breaking into the maize silage crop—which I wish was a hypothetical example, but it’s not: that vandalism took place at 1 o’clock this morning. I am truly fortunate that my wife and daughters can support me by handling all of this.

This isn’t new for them. If it wasn’t for my wife, I would not have been able, over the years, to engage in various forums and be involved in farmer advocacy. I have probably spent more wedding anniversaries at World Dairy Summits with farming colleagues than at home with my wife. So, once again, Audra, I am truly grateful for the support you provide to me. To Michaela and Payton: thank you for keeping me grounded and helping me recognise my place in the world—which is just below two cats, a dog, and several pet day calves.

I would also like to pay tribute to my parents and brother and sister. It’s fair to say it’s not till later in life that you really, truly appreciate all that your parents have done for you. From my parents, I feel I learnt a couple of important lessons. Farming during the 1980s was not easy. Today, in this House, we are concerned about inflation, but I’m sure my father would love to parody that famous line from Crocodile Dundee: “That’s not inflation; this was inflation.” People nowadays think that dairy farming is an easy get-rich-quick scheme. I can tell you that was not my childhood—20 percent interest rates make life hard—but it was a childhood where I learnt all about work ethic and community service from the example of my parents, who did every role from school boards, to school sports, to community service groups, and beyond.

It would be remiss also not to mention my sister and brother. I am thankful that as children, then teenagers and adults, we have stayed close. Given both are in agribusiness, we have run into each other quite a bit over the years in work settings. So far, just my poor sister has had to sit through a meeting referring to me as “Minister”—through gritted teeth. I’m not sure that my brother will have that level of control. I am sorry to them for making their lives so much more awkward because of me choosing to do this.

For me, the path to Parliament is not one that I set out on. My education was very much run-of-the-mill State schooling, from Plateau primary school, to Maidstone Intermediate, and then to Heretaunga College in Upper Hutt. My classmates were a mix of children whose parents were scientists at Wallaceville, civil servants, tradespeople, and even the head of the local Mongrel Mob—a real melting pot of New Zealand society.

From there, aside from thinking I should probably go to university, I still really wasn’t set on any path. In fact, the decision of which university to go to was made more on the fact that a visit to Victoria University showed lots of hippy-looking types playing hacky sack compared to a visit to Massey University, where the uniform of choice was red bands, rugby jersey, and track pants. It was fairly obvious as to what culture was for me. My degree choice of agricultural economics was based more on its likelihood of getting me a spot in the hostels than any particular career interest at that time in “ag economics”. However, in saying that, I did become very interested in all matters agricultural trade - related and international economics.

My three years doing the degree very much laid the basis for my beliefs around the importance of free markets and that fundamental level of efficiency that will come when you do not interfere and let the market do its thing. It also taught me that when you actually know what you are talking about, you don’t need to use big words—you can explain it in simple terms that most people can understand. As I went through my degree, I found that the thing I enjoyed the most about uni was working on the farm during the holidays. After Massey, I spent a year on a farm at Mile 47 of the Alaska Highway in British Columbia. This gave me a real appreciation of just how special New Zealand is for farming, and again the importance of open markets to drive efficiency—not to mention a lifelong dislike of snow.

Coming back home in 1997, it was into farming for me. This was a few years into the expansion of dairy farming in New Zealand. The backdrop to my entire farming career has been this whole debate around farming and the environment. I sometimes lament that a lot of the debate seems to be stuck in 1997. Some have a view that things have to change, and I have constantly heard over the years that we have to change our farming systems. Newsflash: the difference between my first year of farming and today is like night and day. Farmers are not afraid or reluctant to change; we are constantly looking for better ways to do things.

Change is a yearly thing. Every year, I and many other farmers in this country are always trying something new in our farming systems. Some work, some don’t; we adopt, we adapt, and it’s incremental. Like all good things, they take time.

The biggest change I have seen isn’t the physical one on the farms, but it’s one of a mind-set shift and what many farmers are looking at, as to what more they can do. We have seen the growth of catchment groups, and I see dairy farmers talking with pride at how much fencing of waterways they have done. I recall speaking on a farming panel at the World Dairy Summit in Rotterdam. All the other farmers got up and talked about what they were going to do and maybe intended to do, whereas I was able to get up and speak about what we had done, all without subsidies—a point that got a few laughs, but probably more grumpy looks from the EU! The biggest risk to further progress is ignoring this change. If the feeling amongst farmers becomes “Why do I bother to do all this, because there is nothing I am doing that is being recognised?”, they will give up. They lose hope; they stop doing. Farming will continue to evolve. “We want to encourage that to continue in a way that is sensible, practical, and affordable”—to quote a former colleague.

Early on in my farming career, we moved to Feilding, and I joined Young Farmers. This led to my first representative role as the Manawatū district chair, and then the regional chair. The big thing for me at Young Farmers was being a contestant in the Young Farmer of the Year. I remember watching it on TV as a kid, wondering how good you must have to be to make it to the grand final, never thinking it was something that I could achieve. Competing in the Young Farmer contest taught me several useful things: firstly, with all the practical modules, stop, look at the problem, identify the issues, think out a plan, “What tools do you need?”, and then enact the plan—as opposed to the “headless chicken” method, which I often see being utilised elsewhere. It was also my introduction to public speaking and the media. This is where I learnt that kicking Prattley yards and swearing might make good television but is not necessarily good for the one doing the actual swearing.

Making the grand final in 2003 still ranks, for me, as one of the things I am most proud of in life. Young Farmers was the place where I also met three current members of this House: a young Tim van de Molen, who was part of a dastardly plot to steal the Marton Young Farmers Club banner; Barbara Kuriger, who was an interview judge in my first regional final; and then rural affairs Minister Damien O’Connor when I was on the national committee. In Young Farmers, I was also the rep to the provincial Federated Farmers exec. So, when I became old and infirm at the age of 30, it was a natural progression for me! It was a role where I got to be involved in some of the bigger-picture issues for farming. My reason for undertaking leadership roles in Young Farmers was a feeling that I needed to pay it back for the benefits I gained from the contest, and with Feds it was about paying it back to a sector and a way of life I enjoyed—plus, I felt I had something to offer.

I would like to acknowledge all my former colleagues from Feds in the gallery, especially Katie Milne, and also, importantly, a few of them who are sitting down here with me today: Mike, Miles, Mark. Great to have you here, guys. Thank you to all I connected with over the years in Feds. Thank you for sharing your skills and intelligence. I gained great experience from you all over the years. My time in Feds has also prepared me for this role, from gaining knowledge around a myriad of issues to trying to find compromise amongst that broad church that is the Fed Farmers National Council—to the most difficult challenge of all, presenting at a select committee and trying to understand what the hell the question they just asked me actually meant in English!

When I started out in Feds, it was with no real view that I would be the national president. I just did each role, looked at the role above, and felt that I had something to offer, and one step at a time I got there. While some of it has been challenging over the years, the thing that kept me going through it all was all the thankyous and the pats on the back from my community up and down the country. To me, there is a no more satisfying conversation than the classic monosyllabic grunt followed by a handshake. That’s my sort of chat! And here we are, and just like at Feds, the opportunity presented itself, the stars aligned, and I knew I could contribute. And, most importantly, I felt I should pay it back to the best country on the planet.

While my passion is for all things rural, and I while it could be argued that, if farming is doing well, New Zealand is doing well, there is a bit more to it than that. All of New Zealand needs smart and pragmatic decision-making. Rural New Zealand can’t pretend problems that happen in towns and cities don’t affect us; they do. Yes, we need a regulatory framework that gives farmers the confidence to invest, but every small business in New Zealand needs that. Every single one of us with children needs an education system that will equip our children with the skills they need to succeed on the global stage, and the list goes on.

It’s a huge privilege to be in this House and to help shape the future for this country of ours, but it also comes with great responsibility to think those decisions through. The responsibility is probably no more evidenced than by the wreaths on the walls around us. Each of those represents a decision made in this House that was paid for by other citizens. Especially poignant for me is the one to my left over there, for El Alamein. My grandfather served there, was captured, and spent the rest of the war as a POW. The thing I remember the most about my grandfather is his vege garden. It was huge and meticulously planned out so that he always had food. He never ever wanted to rely on another human being for food ever again for the rest of his life. I can barely comprehend what he must have gone through to be so determined on that front.

The portfolios I hold and the things we debate may not lead to such historical events as those represented around us; none the less, they can very well lead to huge impacts on individuals if we don’t get it right. You may have noticed I do like the odd bit of humour, usually at my own expense, but I do take these roles seriously. Thank you to ACT Party team, especially David, for believing in me, but mostly thanks for making me feel welcome and truly part of the team, for all the support that has been offered and given from candidates, members, and volunteers. Special thanks goes to Mark Cameron. We are able to swap stories of what went wrong on the home ranch each day, and some days Mark gets to feel better, and some days it’s me. Today, I think it’s Mark!

Finally, to everyone in this House: I’m here to debate the issues, to put my views and solutions forward. I look forward to playing the ball, not the man or the woman. Thank you for patiently listening to me. I am assuming this is probably the last time that will happen! But just remember I am used to shouting instructions to people two paddocks away without a microphone. So trying to talk over the top of me might not work. Thank you very much.

Kia ora koutou katoa, and thank you, Mr Speaker. I rise today with gratitude and humility to address this assembly for the first time. As I stand here, I am mindful of the rich history and responsibility that comes with being a representative of the people. Today, I would like to share not only my journey but also the principles and vision that guide my commitment to serve New Zealand.

Thank you to those supporting me from the gallery, and thank you to those that are watching me at home, including Riki and the kids, who had their very first day back. Even my own kids don’t get a free pass off school today—same as Andrew Hoggard’s. Looks like we’re setting the example.

Firstly, I extend my sincere congratulations to you, Mr Speaker, on your well-deserved appointment. Having been a resident in your old electorate for most of my life, I can attest to the respect and esteem you hold among our fellow Cantabrians.

I begin with a timeless truth: “All that glitters is not gold”, a quote from Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice. While not the grandest of utterances, it has lingered with me since my seventh-form English class, and I hope to explain how it holds special relevance for those of us entrusted to make decisions for the country.

I was born and raised in Christchurch, a beautiful city with the ocean to the east and the mountains to the west. As kids we enjoyed many days exploring the Canterbury Plains, swimming in the Ashley River, and beach days at Spencer Park. I am proudly one-eyed when I say Christchurch is the best city in the world, the home to the Crusaders—would this be a speech to Canterbury without applying to the Crusaders?—and many great sporting greats; a city that, in the face of disasters, has only strengthened the local spirit. It sets the benchmark for community resilience.

Growing up, the family dinner table was a forum for spirited discussions on policies of the day and visions for New Zealand. My parents, each with distinct political values, mirror the diversity of ideas in this room, and throughout New Zealand. My father, William—or Bill, as he is known—a proud Englishman with traditional conservative views, migrated to New Zealand in the early 1980s, seeking the island paradise lifestyle, working as a sales rep, and then a general manager in the food and beverage industry. In contrast, my mother, Sharyn, with a childhood marked by challenges, became a small-business owner at 20, when she opened her own hair salon. Both my parents have the entrepreneur knack and started their own business together in the 1990s.

As the eldest of three children, I enjoyed a childhood filled with opportunities and support. My parents instilled in me the values of hard work, personal responsibility, and determination. These principles became the bedrock of my character. In fact, my first job was possibly age 10, sweeping the hair off the floor at my mum’s hair salon. Now, before my colleagues to the politically left scream “Child labour!”, don’t worry, I was paid really well. I got a box of Just Juice, a Freddo Frog, and some change to go play Pac-Man at the fish and chip shop next door.

After graduating from Burnside High School—everyone from Christchurch can tune out, if you’re watching—I embarked on a Bachelor of Arts at the University of Canterbury. These years were a time of exploration. I guess you could say that I was actually studying a “bachelor of socialising”. I had no distinct goals. During my second year, a life-altering accident shattered my left wrist and my hand. The forced downtime prompted a reassessment of my goals and aspirations.

Facing the challenges of recovery, I pivoted towards a career in pharmacy, completing my pharmacy tech qualification. Working in community pharmacy introduced me to the diverse realities faced by individuals dealing with serious health challenges, fostering an empathy and strengthening my connection to local community networks.

My marriage to Riki marked the beginning of a new chapter. Together, we made career changes, moved to Auckland, joined my family business, Fire Safety Net (FSN), and transformed it into a national venture, providing evacuation schemes for buildings and emergency response plans to businesses. These years, while challenging with enormous professional development, were immensely rewarding, emphasising the importance of hard work and determination.

Now, as a parent of two children, I’ve learnt the delicate balance required to navigate the demands of work, family, and community. Mum and Dad, I now understand what it’s like to be the family taxi driver, taking the kids to rugby, cheerleading, basketball, hockey; the list just goes on.

The invaluable experiences gained in the pharmacy, coupled with my role as an evacuation consultant in the family business, exposed me to the challenges faced by everyday New Zealanders striving to do the best for their families and themselves and their communities—especially us small-business owners. Working as an evacuation consultant, I had the privilege of being invited into almost every worksite that you can imagine, from factory floors to hotels. I’ve literally been paid to help businesses navigate the red tape that has emerged from this room. I accept there’s an irony in that, that I am now standing here representing the ACT Party.

The fact is: rules and regulations are crippling innovation and growth. The trajectory of health and safety measures has shifted from a lack of accountability to an absence of common sense. The fundamental right of the individual to work, and go to work and come home safely is indisputable. However, the proliferation of pointless tick-the-box exercises not only poses a significant financial burden on businesses but, regrettably, fails to translate into less incidents and serious accidents resulting in death. Contrary to expectations, statistics reveal a concerning uptick in serious workplace incidents and fatalities. This begs the critical question: how can this worrying trend persist, despite excessive safety protocols? It is imperative that we have the settings right to tackle the workplaces with appalling health and safety, and let the rest of us get on with it.

All that glitters is not gold. Sparkling-sounding, well-intended legislation incorporating words such as “fair, clean, new, safe” in the title has often proved to not deliver any real, meaningful change, and often, worse, has had unintended negative outcomes. There are also unintended winners from regulation. Big business—who can easily afford to implement complex protocols—enjoy the fact that smaller would-be competitors face barriers to open and grow.

Of course, there’s my own sector. I’ve watched as others in health and safety compliance lobby for more rules and more complexity, with the sneaking suspicion that the increased work stream isn’t an unintended cost, but instead the whole point. I suspect this dynamic will be familiar to other sectors, whether it be tax compliance or resource management. But I’ve spent too much time talking to small-business owners that are financially and psychologically battered by compliance costs, while they try to deliver vital services on the thinnest of profit margins.

These people are heroes. They aren’t fat cats. They are you: the butcher, the hairdresser, the tradie, the baker, the beautician. They are the everyday Kiwis. It is within this context that I find my calling to public service. I am honoured to stand here today as a representative of the ACT Party—this Parliament’s champion of individual freedom, equal opportunity, and limited Government interference.

If all that glitters is not gold, then what actually is gold? For starters: education. Every child deserves an education tailored to their unique talents and interests, and it’s time our education system reflected the needs and wants of our communities. We need to transform the landscape of learning, encouraging diverse educational approaches. With initiatives like partnership schools, we empower parents, students, edu-preneurs, and iwi to forge a new educational path.

Small businesses, the lifeblood of our economy, will excel in this House if we allow them. By unwinding stifling regulation, we can foster a dynamic market that positions New Zealand globally as it’s open to business.

To my colleagues of the ACT caucus, I want to thank you for your warm welcome and comradery. It’s a privilege to work alongside individuals with such diverse skill sets and experiences, united in a common mission. I have said my thanks to the ACT board for their trust in me, and, of course, to David, whose tireless commitment to freedom inspires us all.

My heartfelt appreciation goes to my family: Mum, Dad, Riki, Mahe, and Emelia. Your support means the world to me. I am sorry, Mahe and Emelia, for making you stand on the corner near school during the campaign and wave bright pink signs. Hopefully the shame has dissipated over the holiday break and you are good to go back to school. I want to remind you, however, that while I’m committed to serving the people of New Zealand, I am firstly committed to serving you. Mahe and Emelia, I hope to make you proud.

To my friends, including those present today, I extend my gratitude for your unwavering support, countless hours of engaging conversations, and boring you with political debates. Despite the divergence in our political perspectives, your steadfast support for me remains unchanged. Thank you for your flexibility and the many social cancelations I made during the campaign and am now likely to make for the rest of my time here.

To the ACT Party members, donors, volunteers, and support crew, your extraordinary efforts are the reason that we are here today. To the voters: I stand here today because of your trust and support. I am dedicated to representing your interests with integrity and passion.

To my fellow candidates in the Banks Peninsula electorate: I commend you for the spirited debates, your collegial spirit, and I want to congratulate Vanessa Weenink, who actually secured the seat. To my fellow ACT candidates who did not secure a seat this time, particularly the Canterbury-based candidates—Matt, Ankita, Ben, Toni, and Ross—I wish you all the greatest success in your future endeavours.

A special acknowledgment to Toni Severin and Ben Harvey for their guidance and influence in my journey. Toni, your encouragement to become an ACT candidate has been instrumental. I thank you. And to Ben: thank you for steering me away from the socialists during our younger years. Whilst we may not have always agreed on politics back at the University of Canterbury, the core libertarian ideas that we did discuss would find a place near to my heart as I travelled through life.

To conclude: may our shared endeavours usher in an era in New Zealand where we don’t just thrive on opportunity but we resonate with the profound wisdom shared by my 10-year-old son, Mahe, during his speech as his kaiārahi Māori leader at his kura: “He kaha ake tātou hei Kotahi. We are stronger as one.” Thank you.

Mr Speaker, may I first thank you for taking on the heavy role of maintaining the honour of this House and for the opportunity to address it and tell of the reasons I have come here and where I have come from.

There is a value which you will hear frequently in this address because I feel it deeply: it’s gratitude. I am grateful to live in a safe country. For the most part, we are peaceful and free, but freedom and safety were not ordained. For many generations, New Zealand has built and preserved our society based on rights and responsibilities. Picking up the litter and putting it in the bin, especially when no one is watching; giving the benefit of the doubt to your neighbour or saying gidday to the person you pass on the street: little things which maintain trust and openness.

These are all things that I think can be best summed up by the honesty-box culture. Every honesty box I see on the side of the road makes me smile, and, in my opinion, the number of honesty boxes that Kiwis have shows the health of this society. Each person who puts something grown or made out on the street shows a faith in their country, and along with those who pay up without the eyes of a store clerk watching, they exhibit their trust and gratitude to their neighbour, and, by doing so, display what it means to be a New Zealander.

I am grateful to our rule of law and our democracy, whose participation and process has seen me standing here today, addressing this house as an ACT MP. I am grateful to all those members and supporters who worked so hard on the ground to ensure ACT’s best ever result, especially to the Tauranga and Bay of Plenty crew, some of whom have been around for a while, and others have joined before, during, and after the Tauranga by-election. I am so impressed by the work you’ve done, and it’s a privilege to be part of an amazing and growing team.

Our democracy and our way of life survives on the faith and peaceful satisfaction of the people who live within it. However, sometimes this enlightened country has needed defending from without. It hit me like a 240 volt the first time I walked into this Chamber and looked up and saw the names of places in which New Zealand’s forces, including my ancestors, have defended our rights and our place in the world. It is an immense honour to be standing in this part of the House in particular, under the name of the theatre in which fought the man who bequeathed to me my surname and the medals in front of me: Stanley George Luxton of the Wellington Mounted Rifles Regiment. It’s an honour and a privilege to be guardian of these treasures, tangible and intangible. I want to thank all our servicemen and women, past and present, for what you’ve done for us.

For I have had a fortunate life. My two sisters and I were raised by loving parents, who set about being the best parents they could be. Despite their childhoods not grounding them in what it means to be a happy healthy human, they made choices and sacrifices for the long term, and gave us an upbringing that was a gift.

I am so grateful that when faced with the choice of an international corporate career, travel, and a life of country hopping, my parents Rod and Cherie chose, instead, to bring us home to New Zealand and move to what was then the small and not so well-known coastal town of Pāpāmoa Beach. Thank you, Lucko, for buying a 12-foot tinny with a sketchy motor to brave the surf and teach me to fish. And thank you, Mum, for giving me a moral compass. We love you both, Nanonan and Lucko. Thank you for all you’ve done for our family and the generations to come.

Living by the beach and near the Rotorua Lakes meant that to take full advantage of what the Bay of Plenty has to offer required learning to swim. I’m grateful that Pāpāmoa Primary School pool was a community asset available. Without the competence to swim, the life I’ve led would have been very different. Swimming in some crazy places gave me the confidence to take on oceans and the hills, and now something equally daunting: politics.

That small town of Pāpāmoa grew and fuelled the massive growth of the city to which it belongs. The small town changed into Tauranga’s largest suburb. Having a family in the building game and with so much opportunity in the trades, I left school, which was never my forte, and at 16, I moved to a campground in Rotorua to start my building trade. It’s a wild time when you are out of home and in a new town. I met some lifelong friends whose love and friendship is a blessing I cherish.

Builders have a no-nonsense type of character—not to say that the on-site banter isn’t the best you’ll ever hear, but if it ain’t straight and plumb, you’ll know all about it. Every tradie deals with what’s in the world, so it can be infuriating when the realm of rules and laws doesn’t match the reality of what’s on the ground. As our leaders get further away from the site of production, further from how buildings are built, food is grown, fish are caught, resources harvested, and services provided, it is no wonder that we have a productivity crisis.

As with the recent examples of housing supply initiatives, tradies and property owners rightly ask: how does a Government think they can change the direction of a housing supply crisis without changing the real factors which affect our ability to provide houses and actually build more? I’ve heard it said, while sitting on an upturned bucket in a half-built garage at smoko one day, “This lot either thinks we’re corrupt or incompetent if they think that they can build houses faster or cheaper than we can, without changing the stupid rules we all have to follow.”

This disconnect goes beyond missing what should be done; it also has a pervasive effect on something more important to our society: trust. It’s a feeling whose shadow shows up in surveys and data, but it’s real to so many Kiwis who just want to reharness the can-do attitude. How many of them have experienced the looming doom of a taxpayer-funded ute or electric vehicle rolling up the driveway or tanker track, or increasingly, an email arriving in your inbox with another pointless issue you have to sort out to comply with some unworkable or out-of-touch rule.

We’ve gone too far in the direction of centralisation. The only thing that has ever innovated and produced more in this world is private citizens working for themselves, their families, communities, and each other. Sometimes Government input is required, and when that is chosen by the citizens—in equal franchise—it is legitimate. But people in the productive economy know that, often, there are no solutions; only trade-offs, and sometimes what was traded away is hard to get back.

The housing crisis has been talked about in every quarter. I believe strongly that if this doesn’t get sorted, then the negative effects on every aspect of Kiwis’ lives will lead to a broken future for our country which will be hard to repair. It could be seen as ironic that to come to Parliament means that I’ve put down my apron and am no longer swinging a hammer on-site to contribute some houses to our stock. But as the only licensed building practitioner ever elected to this House, I am here to enable my fellow tradies and everyone who thinks that New Zealand can only reach our potential if driven by our productive sectors. We do this by making space for the underground knowledge of the true experts of any society: the people that do. The world isn’t a finite resource; innovation and exploration discover new territories of knowledge which we can use to help our fellow humans in every way to be freer and happier.

As I’m sure each member of this House can attest, there are many reasons why someone chooses to get into politics. I have half a dozen circumstances that I could tell you which pushed me towards a political direction, but let me speak of one which forced me over the edge.

I was not strongly suited to mainstream education. One of the most vivid memories I have is the feeling of entrapment and fear when, at six, I realised I couldn’t leave “this place”. It’s a soul-crushing feeling, and perhaps it’s not surprising that a love of school didn’t take. I felt this in every year of my schooling, except for 18 months when, at a newly opened school, Te Ākau ki Pāpāmoa, I was fortunate enough to be in the class of Mr Simmon. That school and teacher didn’t follow every other experience I’d had of school until then. Because of a shortage of space in a growing school, our class was a rented house down an alleyway off school grounds. The way our class was run was so freeing and inspiring that I started thriving. I learnt to read; I was so comfortable that I didn’t even wag school once—in fact, I would do my New Zealand Herald delivery run and still turn up to school early. This is the experience we want for every Kiwi kid. We know that education is the path to a better life.

I was on the sidelines when kura hourua began. I looked on from the back paddock—and I’ll get to how I ended up in the back paddock in a second—and waited with a real hope for the future of New Zealand, when the charter school model would move into areas where the most good could be done. I looked forward to the day when every parent in the country could choose a school that was right for their child.

The angriest that I can ever remember feeling in my life was the day that that gift of charter schools was taken away. The anger was fuelled by the hopelessness of knowing that so many kids would miss the experience of finding their place. This robbed our country and poor communities up and down New Zealand of the chance to see what these kids would do. The day kura hourua was stopped by the “kind” previous Government, I decided that, in whatever way I could, I would help the political party who gave—if even for a moment—that chance to Kiwi kids.

Now, to that back paddock. When the global financial crisis hit construction, I was about 20. So it was time I went on my OE, but it wasn’t to Europe, America, or even over the Tasman. I moved to a place I will love for the rest of my life: a little pastoral island wedged between the Kaingaroa Forest and Te Urewera, a place called Galatea on the Kuhawaea plain. “Grateful” isn’t a strong enough word for how I feel about this place and the community. It was there that I dairy farmed, hunted, and played rugby. Galatea is the best place I have ever known. I had so many formative experiences and learnt some of my most important lessons while in the valley. Many of them influence my politics, from crime and gangs, education, health, and the society of our country, but the central experience—and the one I wish to briefly speak about—is farming.

New Zealand is blessed to have a farming community who care about their animals and people but also about the land and the environment in which their work is enmeshed. My years on farm taught me to respect and care for the world we have. This lesson is held by farmers of all types. I am grateful to our agrarians who will, when the seasons demand it, often work themselves ragged to feed us and pay our overseas bills; when lessons are learnt on how to improve the environment, they put that into action with passion. Rural people have a different view on life because when it comes down to it—when you’ve lived in the world of mud and blood and death and birth—one can’t help but take a long-term view. Farmers know what it is to pull a calf out in the mud, or turn the tractor off at golden hour and watch the world come alive when the sun is low—to be eaten by bugs and covered in crap and love every minute of it.

It’s in Galatea where I met my wife Susan. To you, my darling: thank you for all the support and love you give me. I’m sorry, because I know you thought you were marrying a dairy farmer and living in Galatea and now you’ve got stuck with a politician, but it’s your gracious manner and ability to be loved in every environment you enter which fills me and our kids with so much confidence that our family can do anything. To my two beautiful children—both of you: I’m sorry in advance for not being as available as you’ve been used to throughout your lives. I might not be there every night to tell you three things. But you are strong and you are both growing into the good people that we talk about.

The list of people who’ve gotten me here and made me the man standing in front of you today is long: friends, family, workmates, opponents, mentors—past and present—the places and situations which have impacted on me. Sometimes it’s hard to believe where I’ve found myself and the people I’ve been there with. From the moments when I’ve felt the sublime to the moments where the pain has nearly had me pass out. I am here for this country because of the potential it has to build on the good things left to us by the people who have gone before. We are so fortunate to have inherited traditions going back centuries and millennia; therefore, we owe to the future the chance to do better than we have, with the tools we can give them. I am not blind to the travesties of the past, but I’m grateful for the good which has been left us. As the immortal song says: “We don’t know how lucky we are, mate”.

I offer my experiences to this House, and to make my contribution worthwhile. My trust in the sanctity of the individual, the rule of law, free speech, property rights—these are what I am here to defend. They are not physical items; they cannot be hoarded away in a quiet place and taken out just to be displayed and looked at. These treasures must be put in the world, defended, and lived up to. These concepts are anti-fragile—they only get stronger when challenged—just as those who defend these values must be anti-fragile too. I believe that every New Zealander should have the privilege, as Henley puts it, to be master of their fate, and captain of their soul.

I might not know to the fullest extent how lucky it is to be the inheritor of these taonga left to us in this liberal democracy. But every day, I will be grateful. Thank you, Mr Speaker.

[Applause, hongi, and harirū]

To make her maiden statement to Parliament, I call on Tamatha Paul. Just before she begins, could I just say to the gallery that these are great occasions. There’s no question, I’m sure, we’re going to hear a great speech. Can we sort of hold the applause, as much as possible, until the end? We’re under a bit of a time constraint here, and there are still two more speeches to go. So, with that, I again call Tamatha Paul.

Kia whakatāne au i ahau, i au au aue hā.

Ko wai rā, ko wai rā? Ko Pūtauaki e tū nei, ko Ōhinemataroa e rere nei, ko Ngāti Awa te toki tē tangatanga i te rā, tē ngohengohe i te wai. Nei rā te pō i raru ai a Wairaka.

Tū mai rā te āpōpō mō Papatūānuku e takoto nei. Whano, whano, whakatauhia ngā toki. Haumi e, hui e, tāiki e.

[Let me make myself as a man.

Who is this, who is this? It is Mount Edgecumbe that stands here, it is the Whakatāne River that flows here, Ngāti Awa is the adze whose bindings will not loosen in the sun, and not soften in the water. This is the night that Wairaka met her doom.

Stand forth the future for Papatūānuku that lies here. Advance, advance, lay out the adzes. It coalesces, it assembles, it is bound.]

Hoo! Big rākz now!

I stand before you as a proud descendant of Wairaka. Wairaka brought the Mataatua waka back to safety through a storm at a time when it was tapu for wāhine to paddle—ahoy. Kia whakatāne au i ahau [Let me make myself as a man] is what she said so she could step into her full power and guide her people safely home.

Our kuia of Ngāti Awa Marian McKay worked tirelessly on behalf of our iwi. She regularly petitioned this House for the return of our whenua, foreseeing the consequences of raupatu on our people. She, sadly, died way too young. She died of pneumonia from sitting outside this House, sitting outside in the rain. They wouldn’t even let her in this door.

Hoki wairua mai, e kui e. I am sorry that this House wasn’t ready to hear you, but they will hear me.

It wasn’t so long ago that wāhine weren’t even allowed to speak in this House, let alone vote for the people standing in here, but I am here, with Wairaka, with Marian McKay, with my loved ones, to navigate through the storm ahead. I know that all of my tīpuna are here with me today, as are yours with you.

Ka huri aku mihi ki a koe e Te Ātiawa, ki a koe e Ngāti Toa, ki ngā mana whenua o Te W’anganui-a-Tara.

[I turn my acknowledgments to you, Te Ātiawa, to you, Ngāti Toa, to those who hold authority over the land of Wellington.]

This whenua has seen politicians come and go, but youse are doing the real mahi that will last beyond changes of Government.

To all the iwi who are represented here today: kia ora, my cuzzies. I want to mihi too, āpōpō, those that will come after me. I hope that by the time you read this, we’ve stopped destroying our planet and stopped destroying each other.

Although I am blessed with whakapapa that ties me firmly to this land, I can’t say that that’s the only reason that I am here today. Being an MP can get to your head and you can start to think that it’s your God-given right to stand here, but I know that it wasn’t destiny and it wasn’t fate and it wasn’t good luck that brought me here today. I am here because of the hard work of my community, because it turns out it doesn’t actually matter what the lawyer thinks or the lobbyist thinks, and it doesn’t actually matter what the polls say. What matters is people—people’s stories, people’s hopes for our futures, and people power.

We ran an all-or-nothing campaign here in Wellington Central on the smell of an oily rag—without actually accepting any oil money, by the way. We made 30,000 phone calls and door knocks. We ran the biggest grassroots electorate campaign in Green history and we raised $100,000, which is actually really hard when we’re all broke—probably from paying the rent in this city, as you’re all aware. Ki a koe, Caitlin, my trusty sidekick, nei rā te mihi nui ki a koe mō tō mahi [a big thanks to you for your work].

But enough about me for now. Mr Speaker, congratulations on your new role, and thank you for letting us bring our saxophone in here today. I appreciate you learning my name—I think it’s always good to know the name of your local MP.

In fact, all of you work and live in my electorate, and although I can’t promise to represent half of the views in this House, I do promise to try my very best to support every person in the city, whether they voted for you, whether they voted for me, or whether they didn’t even vote at all. But if you do have any complaints, I’d ask you to please direct those to former Mayor of Wellington Andy Foster or former Mayor of Wellington Celia Wade-Brown!

But in all seriousness, being the MP for Wellington Central is a really special responsibility, and it can be tough—I haven’t even started yet; what do I know? We are a city that sees through the PR. At the moment, it seems like everybody has an opinion on Wellington, just like literally everybody in Wellington has an opinion. It’s not easy representing this town, so I want to give a special mihi to the former member for Wellington Central: Grant Robertson. Fifteen years of service is no small feat, and I’ve discovered that in here, a lot of people don’t know when to call it—but I won’t labour the point. But just know that I acknowledge you, I acknowledge your work, your legacy, and your integrity.

I’ve noticed that our new Prime Minister likes to talk about our city like it’s an ivory tower. I’m aware that the electorate I represent is one of the most informed, educated, and privileged electorates in Aotearoa. But privilege isn’t something to be ashamed of; it’s something to be aware of it. My city knows how to use its privilege, and that’s why Wellington Central chose to elect a young Māori girl from a working-class whānau from Tokoroa. They elected a renter who lives in Aro Valley with her five flatmates and her dog, Biggie—not once, not twice, but three times, you have put your faith in me to represent you. I will not let you down, I will not take you for granted, and I will roll out of bed every single day and one outs this Government, on your behalf.

But my election to represent you didn’t come out of nowhere. We’ve been building momentum since 2019, where we got organised, campaigned, and elected an independent student to our council. We set down the blueprint: that you can be an unapologetic voice for progress, and, if you back it up with organising, you can win.

Even more important than winning is making change. Nobody can deny that our city is fundamentally different than it was just a few years ago, and that’s a result of us understanding our power and wielding it. From the bottom of my heart, to every person who’s supported me over the years: ka nui te mihi ki a koutou.

The most important thing I learnt from being a city councillor is that you can fix the broken street lights and you can try your best to patch up the leaky pipes, but, at the end of the day, it’s just a fresh coat on a rotten house; a dirty system full of hollow men that place profit over people, and treat citizens as customers. But we are not a company; we are a country. We don’t need new management; we need real leadership, and I think that’s something we haven’t had for a long time—just blue and red shades of the same neo-liberal garbage.

People often ask me who my role models were growing up, and, I’m sorry to say, it wasn’t anybody in this House. I’m not impressed by the so-called halls of power; I am impressed by the power of the people. I am in awe of the determination of hapū. I am inspired by artists who speak their minds and open up ours.

When I was growing up, watching my parents working 60, 70 hours a week, without complaint, which was the norm where I’m from—that taught me what hard work really looks like. I grew up in a small town called Tokoroa. I’m really proud to have grown up in the 886, despite what the 6 o’clock news might have you believe, and I won’t lie: Tokoroa is not for the faint-hearted. The things I saw growing up there is exactly the kind of behaviour you’d come to expect when the only investment you’re getting is new liquor stores on every street corner and new pokie machines in every pub. Without romanticising the very real issues, I would say that that’s what has made us even more determined to look out for one another. This is where I learnt that if we work together and we share what we have with each other, there is enough for everybody to go around. That’s the fundamental ethos of the Green Party.

Although society would very much like us to hate ourselves in Tokoroa—and probably in the Greens, too—it has made us even more curious in understanding who we are and where we come from. That’s a quote that has inspired me always, and stuck with me always, from Nina Simone: “My job is to somehow make them curious enough, or persuade them by hook or by crook, to get more aware of themselves and where they come from and what they are into and what is already within them, and to bring that out. This is what compels me to compel them, and I will do it by any means necessary.”

One thing I’ve learnt from listening to other maiden speeches is that a lot of us have done it tough growing up. I don’t think anyone’s journey here has been particularly easy. For some of us, that adversity has opened our hearts up to serving our people. But I can see that, for some, the pain is still there, and I can promise you that taking it out on the places that you come from will not heal you. But seeking answers to understand why things are this way will prevent us from repeating history and making the same mistakes. Another future is possible, and that’s why I came to Wellington—because I’ve lived the worst of it. I’ve seen what happens when you cut wages, deny benefits, sanction people, sell State housing, strip and privatise public assets, and move people away from the land that they come from and lock them up and throw away the key.

But if there’s anything I’ve learnt from growing up in Tokoroa, it’s that if we all just shared a little bit more and if we all work together, we can overcome the steepest of challenges, which is almost the complete antithesis of this House. This place has a nasty habit of chewing up and spitting out our best and brightest. It’s clear that there is an unwritten rule book: one set of standards for some, and another set of standards for brown women. For as long as you can come in here and unwind decades of progress overnight, we’re never going to move beyond the status quo, and I don’t think the status quo is serving anybody or our planet particularly well.

But how are you supposed to stay in touch with reality in a place like this that isn’t even a reflection of the real world? We go from our nice homes and our nice vehicles to the Koru lounge and to the front row of the airplane, and from a chauffeur to Parliament. But I’m here to tell you that this Parliament is not our future. The future that I dream of looks very different to the one in front of me today, because until we start making the right decisions to stop polluting our planet into extinction, until we stop ram-raiding Te Tiriti o Waitangi, and until we confront the uncomfortable truths about our history and build on the agreement that our ancestors signed—both yours and mine—we will be doomed to continue to repeat history.

That’s why a lot of people have switched off. We’ve just got tired of politicians on both sides of this House making promises that they couldn’t keep. It’s true that you can’t make everybody happy, but at some point you have to put a stake in the ground for people who are doing it really hard right now.

That’s who I’m in this House to represent and it’s not just me fighting, and fighting doesn’t have to look like question time every day at 2 p.m. Fighting can look like speaking as little or as much of your reo that you have, reclaiming your whakapapa, or reclaiming our cities that have been gentrified. It’s refusing to let this fast-paced rat race strip you of your birthright to return to your maunga, return to your awa, and return to the knowledge that our ancestors have left for us. Ko Ngāti Awa te toki tē tangatanga i te rā, tē ngohengohe i te wai.

[Ngāti Awa is the adze whose bindings will not loosen in the sun, and will not soften in the water.]

If you stay ready, you ain’t got to get ready. Ngāti Awa stays sharp, Ngāti Awa stays ready, and we do it looking so good. Huri noa I te Whare. Tihei mauri ora! Chur.

Waiata—“Wairaka”

[Applause, hongi, and harirū]

Karanga

To make her maiden speech to Parliament, I call on Kahurangi Carter.

Thank you, Mr Speaker. Thank you for your service to Ōtautahi Christchurch, my home. Thank you for your continued service in this Chamber, and I look forward to hearing more of the start of your early days in Parliament with Uncle John.

Māku rā pea, māku rā pea, māku koe e awhi e i te ara, ara tuku, māku koe e awhi e.

[Perhaps it will be me, perhaps it will be me, perhaps it will be me to help you on the path, the path of growth, I will help you.]

Ko te kupu te kupu, ko te Atua te Atua, ko Ranginui ki runga, ko Papatūānuku ki raro, ka mate ai te tangata. Ka pō, ka ao, ka awatea, mauri ora.

He kōtiro au o te kōhanga reo. E te iwi, e te whānau, e te Whare, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou katoa.

Ko Tainui te waka. Ko Karioi te maunga. Ko Whāingaroa te moana. Ko Hoturoa te tangata. Tainui Āwhiro; ngunguru i te ao, ngunguru i te pō. He hokinga mai ki Te Nehenehe-nui, taku Rourou-iti-a-haere, Te Tokanga-nui-a-noho, Te Kūititanga-o-te-whakaaro, ko Waikato Maniapoto te iwi.

Ko Ngāti Rora, ko Ngāti Uekaha e mihi nei, e tangi nei, mauri ora.

[The word is Scripture, God is God, Ranginui above, Papatūānuku below, as humanity passes on. Night brightens and turns to dawn, health and vitality.

I am a girl of the kōhanga reo. To the people, the family, and the House, thanks and greetings to you all.

Tainui is my canoe. Karioi is my mountain. Whāingaroa is my ocean. Hoturoa is my ancestor. Tainui Āwhiro that roars by day and by night. The return to Te Nehenehe-nui, my Rourou-iti-a-haere, Te Tokanga-nui-a-noho, Te Kūititanga-o-te-whakaaro, Waikato Maniapoto is my tribe.

Ngāti Rora and Ngāti Uekaha greets you and grieves with you, health and vitality to all.]

When I was a little girl living by the river, there was one character who spoke to me. Now, Disney doesn’t always resonate with me, but these words did: “You think you own whatever land you land on, the earth is just a dead thing you can claim. But I know every rock and tree and creature has a life, has a spirit, has a name. You think the only people who are people are the people who look and think like you, but if you walk the footsteps of a stranger, you’ll learn things you never knew, you never knew.” The places I have lived in in our beautiful country have shaped the person I am today.

My mother raised my siblings and I in a country town in the south Waikato called Te Kūiti. My mum raised my siblings and I in nature. We loved to eat from our garden. We would watch as a small, white flower would turn into a green fruit and ripen to bright orange. We would savour the sweet segments and toss the peels under the tree to give nutrients to the soil to grow more of our favourite fruit—a perfect circular economy, one given to us by nature and the “OG CEO”, Papatūānuku.

We lived on the Mangaokewa river and learnt from the awa that the only constant is change. My siblings and I would swim in the rapids, and we learnt from our teacher, our awa. Children don’t swim in that river today due to pollution—teaching us another lesson, which is that we must do everything we can to ensure that your children and my children and every generation after can swim in our awa, living in harmony with nature.

When I was a teenager, we lived on Lake Pupuke, a dormant volcano and our favourite swimming hole. We were lucky to live there: when Takapuna Beach was closed due to pollution, we could just run and jump in the lake. My grandfather Fred planted native bush on the lake and added a new tree for each of his descendants, symbolising their belonging and growth through the seasons of time.

When our tamariki started school, we moved to a small alpine village and farming community in the foothills of Koro Ruapehu called Ōhākune. Koro taught us about respecting nature. When the conditions weren’t safe, it didn’t matter that my kids’ school had scheduled a ski day. We knew to respect our koro and respect the conditions.

When our children started high school, we chose to raise them in Christchurch. We were warmly embraced by the Christchurch community. It is evident on any given day when I walk the streets of Christchurch that we are creating a place for people and planet to live in harmony. In Christchurch, we really feel the seasons, and we learn about change. Hot, dry summers at Rāpaki Beach; falling leaves in autumn; cool, sunny days in winter; and colourful flowers in the spring all remind us that change is our constant.

To my indigenous people around the world, from our mountains to our rivers and our seas, I stand with you. Ki uta ki tai.

[From inland to the sea.]

I come from a long line of orators: dignified, eloquent, witty Māori. Watching my pāpā on the paepae elevating people with his kōrero, I see my brother stepping up to take his place on the pae, and I know our future is in safe hands with this young generation of rangatahi. We are a proud people, and I am so proud to represent you.

Sitting in this room does not take the efforts of one person. For every politician here, we have a village sustaining us. To the people who make our coffee and tea just the way we like it, to the drivers who get us here and home safely, to the pilots who return us home and bring us to Wellington for a fresh week, to our cleaners, Uber Eats drivers, the friends who support us, the staff who give us their best, the volunteers who continue to turn up for us—thank you. It is the honour of my life to serve you.

We’ve already seen changes to New Zealand with this newly formed Government. The result is an unwinding and unpicking of years of progress, with real impacts. What does this mean for New Zealand? Just within my whānau, my sibling the nurse is impacted by overflowing waiting rooms in a critically underfunded healthcare system at the point of collapse. My siblings the engineers are impacted with New Zealand’s $200 billion infrastructure deficit. Historical under-investment and climate change pressures call for a bold approach. My sibling the lawyer is impacted by a severely underfunded legal system impeding access to justice. My siblings the teachers, my parents the small-business owners, my nan the artist, my rainbow community, my haemophilia community, and all those affected by disabilities, my children the students, my friends the immigrants, my cousins the farmers are all impacted by the decisions we make in this Chamber. My hapū, my iwi, are impacted by decisions we make in this Chamber. All New Zealanders are impacted by decisions we make in this Chamber.

If we think of New Zealand as a boat, a waka—where are we going? How do we work well together to paddle the waka most effectively for every New Zealander? Because the truth is that we are all in the same waka, each other’s waka.

Growing up I played a lot of sport. Politics is a competitive sport. Athletes pursuing peak performance focus on training, rest, fuel, hydration, and stress management.

Every famous person has an origin story. Every superhero has an origin story. Every villain has one, too. Every origin story has circumstances and choices. The choices we make are constrained by our circumstances. In my origin story, I didn’t only make good decisions but I had lots of good decisions and choices available to me. How is New Zealand doing as a country when students are living below the poverty line? When the brightest minds for our future are having to make the choice between eating or heating, how is New Zealand doing as country? If we treated these bright minds like competitive athletes focusing on the best conditions for their peak performance, how, then, is New Zealand doing as a country?

The opportunities I was granted by attending one of Auckland’s top-performing schools in a well-resourced community meant the choices available to me were good choices. If these opportunities were available to all New Zealanders, how, then, would New Zealand be doing as a country? I stand here and I look up and I see my people: tangata whenua, tangata Tiriti, our rainbow community, our disabled community, our artists, my housing community, my Para Kore people, my siblings, my chosen family.

To Darcy, for raising the most precious thing in the world to us—our children. To my Mum, if my greatest achievement in this room is showing you that you belong here and that you are represented here, this is our moment. In the words of my tupuna Rewi Maniapoto, “Ka whawhai tonu matau”—we will fight on for ever and ever and ever. Ha ki roto, ha ki waho. Breathe in, breathe out. We did it! I am so honoured for the trust that you have placed in me. I stand here and I pledge my devotion, to being worthy of your hope, worthy of this seat, and my ambition is to represent all New Zealanders every day.

I would like to congratulate everyone in this room and all your supporters, volunteers, and whānau for your efforts, for your sacrifices, and everything it has taken to get you here. I see our place as custodians, kaitiaki of these seats in this Chamber. We are here to perform and preserve for the generations to come.

How can the waka of New Zealand move forward? How can we innovate and use historic lessons to move us beyond the same solutions we’ve tried before? As pioneers of many outstanding innovations, New Zealand has the ability to shape a better future for all Aotearoa. Like an athlete wanting to exceed their personal best, let’s work together to exceed our collective best, because Papatūānuku deserves it. Our rangatahi deserve it.

Participative Governments lead democratically. Having empowered and participative citizens gives the people in this Chamber access to move perspectives to help give us a wide range of options to solve New Zealand’s biggest challenges. You have so much more power in a society than two ticks every three years.

I urge every New Zealander to stay informed and stay involved in the decisions made in this Chamber. Follow your local MP on social media and see what they’re up to, see how they are serving your community. Does their vision align with yours? The power lies with you, the people.

We live in a country of plenty. It’s important in this current political climate that we unify and steer our waka to ensure we leave a legacy of abundance for future generations through the tides of time.

Tai pō, tai ao, tai awatea. Mauri ora.

[Night tides, day tides, the tides of dawn. Health and vitality (to all).]

[Applause, hongi, harirū]

Waiata—“Politician”

All good. All right, we have another speech to go, and I now call upon, to make his maiden speech to the House, Scott Willis.

Whakataka te hau ki te uru, whakataka te hau ki te tonga kia mākinakina ki uta, kia mātaratara ki tai. Ki ngā hau katoa o te motu e piri nei i a tātou, tēnā tātou katoa.

Ki te mana whenua, tēnā koutou. Ki a tātou katoa e rongo ana i ngā hau e pupuhi ana, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou katoa.

[The wind turns towards the west, the wind turns towards the south, making it intensely cold onshore and bitterly cold at sea. To all the winds of the nation that bring us together, greetings to all of us.

To those with authority over this land, greetings. To all of us who feel the winds that blow, greetings and thanks to all of you.]

Tēnā koe, Mr Speaker. Thank you and congratulations yet again. I am very proud to be part of our new Green caucus; the biggest Green caucus ever, with such a wealth of lived experience from the Far North to the deep South. I am privileged to stand here today for everyone who voted for the Green Party; all of you who voted for climate, for nature, for people, and for Papatūānuku.

Over the past years, I have loved working as part of a consultancy group called Climate Navigator. I’ve also been privileged to be part of an inspiring deep South kaupapa Māori organisation: Aukaha. I am honoured that some of my colleagues from both organisations are here today. Your mahi is essential, kia kaha.

I owe a huge debt to all of my friends, neighbours, and colleagues who have supported me on this journey. I want to thank the deep South province, the kaitiaki group, my fellow candidate Fran, and local Green members for their huge support. I am proud to be able to represent you and I will do my utmost to uphold the faith you’ve shown in me. I am indebted to Ross, Dan, and Hugh, my campaign managers: you kept me sane, you kept me informed, you kept me prepared, and, most importantly, you kept me on time! To the Waitati Bookclub, I salute you. To my rural Green colleagues, here and right across the motu, thank you.

I have had a fantastic summer break with friends, family, and birdlife, with time in the bush and at the beach. Working in my garden at Waitati, I was acutely aware of being surrounded by birdsong. It’s something I hope to hear one day all around the motu. Digging a vege garden is very grounding; it takes me back to my own roots, to where it all began.

I grew up in a small place called Otekaieke—and it’s often pronounced “Ohtekaik”. It’s in the expanse and clear air of the Waitaki Valley. It was an idyllic childhood: building huts, roaming the paddocks, the water-races, and the hills. We swam in the river—I know that’s a unique thing; that was back when it was safe to do so—we rode our bikes everywhere; we trapped possums; and we generally ran wild. All in all, it was the perfect preparation for becoming a Green MP! During summers, I helped my father with the beehives, and carted hay. The winters were beautifully cold, dry, with ice in the creek and Mum’s warm, welcoming kitchen. But I also remember the summers, when we were packed—because I’m the youngest of five siblings—into the Land Rover, in the back, and undertaking epic journeys to my grandparents’ place in Roxburgh: fishing, hunting, swimming, picking apricots and cherries, catching up with cousins, and all after digging the Land Rover out of the snow one summer at the top of Dansey’s Pass—that’s the South.

When I was sworn into Parliament, I placed my hand on top of a venerable old book. It’s our Willis family tree. It speaks to my whakapapa. Originally published in 1633, it helpfully begins with Adam and Eve, and therefore unites me with everybody here! But my family tree also includes some interesting people: rolling forward some 5,797 years from Adam and Eve, you find one particularly inspirational individual: John Walpole Willis, who defended the emancipation of slaves in British Guiana in the mid-1800s, and stood up for Aboriginal rights during his time as a judge in New South Wales—a defender of the vulnerable; not afraid to stand against the tide.

Whakapapa is central to who we are, as Tam and Kahu spoke about. It reveals the wrongs and flaws in our past, but it also helps us to find those threads and qualities to aspire to and to pass on. My parents gave me a number of those qualities. In my rural childhood, I got that sense of connection, or tūrangawaewae. I grew up feeling empowered and connected to the land. It makes it easier to grasp that we don’t own the land; the land owns us.

When I visit the Waitaki Valley, I know that Mum and Dad are still there in their ashes spread on the farm, in the trees that were planted, and in the colours of the ranunculus and the flaxes and the kōwhai.

Mr Speaker, I stand before you as one of the oldest members of the Green Party caucus. Consequently, I have had a slightly longer journey to Parliament than many of my colleagues.

I inherited a sense of adventure from my parents and siblings. I really did want to see the world. I went to university as a 17-year-old in 1987—so you can do the calculations there!—then dropped out and went to Australia. There I worked as a jackaroo, truck driver, and a bit of a sort of self-taught mechanic on a 1.5-million-hectare cattle station. I experienced the exhilaration of riding semi - wild horses, and bull catching in cut-down four-wheel drives. But I also learnt about the quiet competence of the Aboriginal stockmen and their families. They had always lived as part of that land in the Kimberley Country. I learnt about dispossession; I learnt about naked, corrosive racism; and I learnt about the indominable spirit of the Aboriginal people.

In Morocco, my partner, Jenna, and I bought a donkey and got lost in the High Atlas Mountains. There, we experienced the rich hospitality of Berber tribespeople in woollen tents. We saw the ingenuity of life in that arid, arid environment, and we were given the hospitality of a tent, and a donkey, food, a meal, and directions over a mountain pass.

In France, I worked as a cook, builder, and donkey-trekking guide in an alternative rural community in the Cévennes. We milked goats and sheep, we made cheese and chestnut jam, bartered and traded. It was an experience that was about as far from centre-pivot irrigation and industrial dairy as you can get. In that community in France, I learnt about an economy within an economy. An economy of enough—that nourished people, ideas, and an alternative vision for rural community. I learnt about agroecology and living simply.

The catalysts for a journey into politics aren’t always obvious. I had no intention back then of entering politics. But by the late 1990s, with the birth of the transition town movement, the slow food movement, and our two wonderful sons Bruno and Lucan, I wanted to make a difference. I returned to university as an adult student and spent several years reflecting and teaching on alternative rural living and global food politics. Then I was invited to spend some time as an intern at the European Parliament in Brussels, researching EU rural policy. Meanwhile, Bruno began his schooling on his fifth birthday with complete immersion in a French speaking école primaire, and Lucan learnt his numbers from his pushchair by counting dog turds on the streets of Brussels—un caca de chien, deux caca de chien. Now that’s great preparation for the political arena!

After that time in Belgium and France, we returned to Aotearoa and I co-founded and managed an NGO in Blueskin Bay, north of Dunedin. Our mission was to deliver local climate solutions. It allowed me to meet and work with some truly inspirational people, like my friend and mentor Jeanette Fitzsimons. Jeanette, along with other Greens like Sue Kedgley, Gareth Hughes, Eugenie Sage, Mojo Mathers, Metiria Turei, and James Shaw, began to draw me inexorably towards the Green Party as an agent of change.

I learnt something else very important from Jeanette, as well as from others like the Aboriginal community of the Kimberley Country, like my Taekwondo colleagues, like my French friends in the Cévennes, like my parents. They all taught me the value of perseverance. We might get knocked down, but we should never lose hope. Things may not go according to plan, but values and solutions are worth fighting for, and we should never give up.

During my 12 years as manager of the Blueskin trust, I experienced a crash course in the realpolitik of progressive environmental change in Aotearoa. There were some great highlights and frustrations. Two of the highlights: firstly, developing Aotearoa’s first peer-to-peer electricity retail service, allowing people to share renewable electricity. Second, building the first climate safe house—a model for how to rapidly build transportable, modular eco-homes to address the flood risk and the housing crisis.

And two of the frustrations. Well, firstly, the inability to sustain the first peer-to-peer electricity retail service due to the power of the gen-tailers to manipulate the electricity market. Secondly, the rejection by the Dunedin City Council of Aotearoa’s first community wind farm at Blueskin Bay on “visual impact” grounds. The wind farm experience in Blueskin revealed two things. It showed the incredible potential to build community resilience, but it also revealed the inadequacy of the Resource Management Act, which we are going back to. It pointed me directly towards the broken policy process in Wellington as the most significant barrier to any real progressive change on the ground.

Misinformation from a small group of people and canny use of a flawed policy environment managed to derail a decade-long project to create an energy-resilient community. From this, I learnt a hard political lesson: it is easier to stop things than to make good things happen. Unfortunately, that is exactly what we saw in Parliament prior to Christmas. The coalition Government had the same approach: stopping things and rejecting solutions to the climate crisis rather than making positive things happen. This is the political reality we now confront. It’s familiar to everyone who works in the search for transitions to a better energy future. It’s the daily reality of a whole lot of people here today who are energy innovators. The reality, we all know, is that our energy policy is almost entirely designed to make those transitions as difficult as possible.

I am inspired by those groups, those NGOs, those individuals who battle on against these policy barriers and continue to advocate for innovative solutions—like Otago farmers who want to host small wind farms; like 350 Aotearoa, whose petition to support Homegrown Energy I presented to the House last year; like Toast Electric here in Wellington; like the Te Arawa Climate Change Working Group and the South Dunedin Future programme.

But energy policy is working against them, and I stand before you as someone who will champion everyone trying to work towards cleaner, cheaper, smarter power for energy, wellbeing, and for climate justice for all. And for anyone in any party who gets this, I stand ready and willing to work with you to help unlock New Zealand’s energy potential as the Saudi Arabia of wind power.

If the Government does eventually want to move and journey from saying no to saying yes on a more sustainable and secure energy future, then there are already a great host of people working on and demonstrating those alternatives. Everything we need to transition to cleaner, cheaper, smarter power already exists. Our critical political task is to remove the policy barriers that are stopping those solutions coming to fruition.

Finally, I began this speech by recognising the importance of family and whakapapa, and I stand here because of the support of my family. To my parents, who gave me so much, I wish they could be here, but it is now up to us to take their values forward. I want to give a shout-out to my sisters, Susan and Liz, who made it here today, somehow, and to Robin and Richard, who couldn’t make it. Thank you for everything, thank you for fishing me out of the Coal Creek pond, throughout this journey.

My parents-in-law, Helen and Stephen, have been absolutely wonderful, and Bruno and Lucan: I’m so proud of you both. I’m pleased that I’ll get to spend a bit more time with you both in Wellington, and I’m really impressed that you wear my suit so well. And, Jenna, I know this is not an ideal situation for us, and I know—well, I know that, but you’ve been so supportive, despite everything, and thank you for accepting this journey. Je t’aime, mon amour.

I have a dream for Aotearoa, and for Bruno and Lucan and their partners. My dream: Aotearoa will have clear-running rivers and bush bursting with birdlife. It’ll be a place where everyone lives in a warm, cosy home and with good, local, seasonal food on the table. A place where we harness the wind, the sun, and the water to power our homes, our businesses, our mobility. A place where everyone has enough—not too much, not too little, but enough to live a good life. A country where we live within our means and we engage that endlessly renewable resource—our creativity—to ensure everyone, whether rural or urban, can thrive.

This shouldn’t simply be a dream. It’s all within our reach—it’s merely a political choice—and we shouldn’t stand for anything less. Kia ora.

[Applause, hongi, harirū]

Waiata—“Tūtira Mai Ngā Iwi”

The House adjourned at 6.22 p.m.