Valedictory Statements — Paulo Garcia

Thank you, Mr Speaker. It is such a privilege to be able to stand again, this time to do a valedictory. I went through a range of emotions preparing this speech. I hope to convey only the best of those emotions: my wonderment, my gratitude, and my joy.

My wonderment at actually being a member of Parliament in New Zealand—my mother and father, visiting in winter 2006, soon after my family had just arrived, saw how we needed to ration heat in our rented home. Fourteen years ago, our family did a road trip to Wellington. We parked at Molesworth Street and we jumped out with our little kids and we took photos in front of Parliament. I wanted to begin by saying mom and dad, mom and pop, thank you for advocating for us in heaven. Gratitude for the opportunity to take the Filipino migrant story in New Zealand all the way to Parliament, by God’s grace and the trust and hard work of many, as the first ever member of the New Zealand Parliament of Filipino descent.

Melissa Lee, Peter Goodfellow, Simon Bridges, Alastair Bell, Andrew Hunt, Peter Kiely—thank you. I understand that I’m only the third Filipino adult migrant to have been elected into a legislature outside the Philippines in history.

Gratitude for the privileged experience working as an MP with my colleagues; the Parliament team; the clerks and staff; my outstanding executive assistant Winin Wilson; Sally, Diane and Thomas, among others; my electorate office team with former MP Marie Hasler, Andre Bonilla, and James Rutherford; Lisa, Paul, and Ben at the library; the security team, in particular, Carl, Sam and Geno; and the cleaning staff for your genuine smiles and nods of acknowledgement and encouragement which helped so much, especially when I have been invisible to many.

Joy in being able to return to the country of my birth, the Philippines, as a New Zealand member of Parliament twice—during the 52nd Parliament in January 2020 for an official parliamentary bilateral visit to the Philippines with the National Party leadership team of Simon Bridges, Gerry Brownlee, and Mark Mitchell, to meet with our Philippine counterparts and the presidential candidates for the 2022 elections there, and a special visit with the Philippines Cardinal Luis Antonio Tagle, and again during this parliamentary term in April 2024 for an investment mission to Singapore, Thailand, and the Philippines with the Prime Minister, Minister Simon Watts, and 25 CEOs of New Zealand. At the behest of the Prime Minister, I walked down the red carpet from the plane alongside him, which was not protocol. Thank you, Mr Prime Minister. Then to Rome in October 2025 as I was invited to speak as the Filipino New Zealander MP at the Filipino diaspora conference during Pope Leo and Cardinal Tagle’s week of prayer for migrants.

Gratitude for the amazing friendships and network built over these years, many of whom are in the gallery tonight: our New Lynn hoardings and support team; my campaign managers Romil Fernandez and Kevin Ryan; my psychiatrist friend, or, should I say, my friend the psychiatrist, Dr Tony Fernando, who I know has been watching over my mental health all this time; the many amazing constituents in New Lynn; the Kasamas, the National core group; Knights of Rizal; my Welly whānau; the very many hard-working Filipinos from Kaitāia to Invercargill, mga kababayan; the diplomatic corps in Wellington, especially the fantastic Philippine Ambassador to New Zealand Kira Azucena and their embassy team; and my former colleagues at the Auckland Consular Corps, Peter, Greg, and Boguslaw. It is all about strong relationships. I am humbled in knowing each of you. This is community.

Getting into politics has been like getting on a train that doesn’t fully stop. You have to grab hold, battle others to get in, and take a seat as the train quickly enters into a very tight tunnel. If you pop your head out—unless you’re Tom Cruise—it could well be knocked off. One of life’s greatest challenges is not to think that we are bigger and better than who we really are—all the more as members of Parliament. There’s a huge temptation to think that we are like the great big tractor wheels of a tractor and that the tractor won’t work without us, when the reality is that we are actually just the clumps of soil that are stuck on them. Conversely, the toxicity of politics can actually make us feel even less. The human need to be seen, heard, and acknowledged can become overwhelming. In wanting to be the big wheels, we miss the fact that the clumps of soil, formed together, make up the field that’s infinitely more valuable than the great, big tractor wheels that may often need to be replaced.

Politics is also like a marathon. Some have trained for it all their lives, some get into it to see what they can contribute, and some for the perks and praise of winning at all costs. Because intense focus and long work hours are the rule, many would have run the full distance without real connection and engagement—many times to the detriment of our own teams, our friends, and our families. Despite the huge platform for engagement and community it presents, politics can be hugely isolating. We can end up siloed and thinking that everything is about us. There is so much to do to keep New Zealand afloat and going in the right direction—amid the onslaught of threats and the barrage of hate and calumny, and risks to personal safety, on top of the unrelentingly fast pace and volume of work. Even the greatest of intentions to see, hear, and acknowledge others are lost in some. But what I’ve realised is—apart from a few exceptions, possibly—this is no one’s fault. It’s simply the nature of the beast that politics is.

I’m grateful to have met so many amazing people and learnt so much. Parliament is a study in human behaviour and motivations. It’s also a reflection of the public. Instead of thriving in our shared humanity, some choose to condemn and divide. Language is weaponised to foster hate and division and doubt and suspicion. Many of the public, often the most vulnerable, hear words spoken in this House, take them, and action that hate. I have had more than a lifetime’s worth of profane gestures and nastiness through my time as a member of Parliament. I’ve always believed in a final judgment, not expecting that judgment happens here. For the first time in my life, I was screamed at over the phone over a sustained period where a friend walking beside me exclaimed, “Wow, who was that?” I’ve almost been run over, threatened, had cans thrown at me, and attacked while in my car. My wife and I have had to move house. It isn’t real until it happens to you. This takes an emotional toll for some more than others. It threatens our peace.

I take from the words of a person I follow closely: “Peace is not merely a political or institutional reality. It is the fruit of conscience, where resentment, indifference, and hatred can either be escalated or reconciled. Words can open paths or close them. They can illuminate reality or distort it to the point of making encounter impossible.” I mentioned this in my maiden speech: “Let hateful words be the undoing of those who wield them.” We who hold public office have a special obligation to be mindful of our words in order to disarm language instead of weaponising it. Firmness does not mean contempt. Disagreement does not affirm hate. Alleging the contrary is simply false and misleading. Respect cannot be demanded when it’s not lived. It is in this respect for others that arises the duty to safeguard the space where their convictions, their conscience, and their relationships—some involving a faith in God—lie.

It is this inner realm that allows for a better understanding of increasingly divisive issues for every democratic society: freedom of thought, conscience, and religion—fundamental rights that protect the most intimate sphere of persons. The freedom upon which the contemporary State is built, if it is authentic, recognises the religion, the religious dimension, of the human person, respects it, and protects it, and it ensures that having faith is not a reason for which a person has to forfeit his or her contribution to society.

I finish with a tribute to my family: my brother Dr Vicente Garcia and his wife, Pearlie who have taken time off their extremely busy lives in Connecticut to be here with me tonight. My family in faith and very close friends, thank you for being here. For my daughters Maryana, Rocio, Lucia, and Ana Carmela, I learn from your example. Thank you for your wise counsel and your prayers. My father’s heart wishes for you all to be here with me this evening. To the love of my life, Malu, the one vote I was determined to retain and maintain, my heart sings with joy at the prospect of spending more time with you—unhurried coffees. Thank you for being my greatest ally and sounding board, even if you do tend to get sleepy whenever I talk about my reckons. You have made me feel whole and affirmed me when I felt in pieces. I am excited for our next adventure.

Thank you everyone. Thank you everyone, really. I leave you with a hope that through the challenges we all have in our respective lives, we can pause more often, smile more, and be thankful. I have asked the Auckland Choral Ensemble to help us remember how truly blessed we are living in New Zealand through a song entitled “Paraiso”—in English, “Paradise”.

Waiata—“Paraiso”

[Applause]

SPEAKER: The House is suspended for the dinner break.

Sitting suspended from 6.03 p.m. to 7.30 p.m.