The wizened old crocodile stood before the true believers at the party conference once again. He looked up from the lectern and smiled his trademark smile and the ladies in the front row swooned. The remaining men folk shook clenched fists enthusiastically in the air, “Only Winston can save us!”
“The seeds of Apartheid” he glared and snarled “that’s right, that’s what you’re getting.”
Winston was addressing the faithful with a message of fear, racism, and a touch of the good old days - if they didn’t automatically update these days you could’ve set your watch by this speech arriving a year out from an election.
“The English language is being erased”, he threatened. He knew that was nuts, 99% of language kiwis encountered was in English, but he also knew that just a few words of Te Reo during the weather report was enough to have his audience turning their hearing aids off. The problem was they then missed half of Seven Sharp in a panic that they had gone deaf and why wasn’t that Paul Holmes on?
The members voted to get rid of legislative references to the Treaty of Waitangi, except for a few circumstances. He’d wanted them to sign up to a policy stance with a statement about apartheid but they said the memories of all those hairy young hippies that stopped them watching the rugby were still too fresh.
People complained about young people today - protesting by throwing soup at a Van Gogh or glueing their heads to a motorway, but back in their day the young rascals had actually stopped a rugby game! Can you imagine?
This was his domain, Maori bashing and opposing immigration were his bread and butter. His message not so much to those in the room, although they lapped up the greatest hits, as to those watching on the 6pm bulletin.
The crocodile wanted ALL the anti-Maori votes, no Johnny come-lately, or whatever the latest one was called from National, or worse the dreaded ACT, were taking them.
For younger readers the history of New Zealand First, and the crocodile, is thus...
Once upon a time (1991), far far away (Wellington) the Lord of the land Spud Bolger said to young Winston (it is important to remember that Winston has always been young, even when he was fighting the dreaded Boerewors back in the Boer war) - “Who’s your Daddy?”
But Winston knew he was the New Hope of the party. His Brylcreem parting and pinstripe suit had made most of the National members forget he was even Maori. The ladies who sat up the front who realised just assumed that he was Howard Morrison and they were weak in the knees, and still are, more than ever, decades later.
He refused to answer Big Old Mean Potato Head, Winston knew he was destined to be the real Daddy himself, so he became the crocodile sent into exile. First to the back benches and then they told him there was no future for a recalcitrant reptile.
He wandered through the watery wilderness in search of a sign as to what to do next. Finally he caught a glimpse of his own face reflected in the water of a great lake and he yelled “My Precious” realising that he was the sign, the way, and the light. Winston swore that he would return to the capital where Mr French Fry Face would rue the day he had questioned the parentage of the great crocodile.
He started his own party in 93 and by 96, the first MMP election, he was the King Maker holding the balance of power. He alone could choose who the government would be - like a God. To the surprise of many he chose the root vegetable.
In 98 Jenny Shipley, who had by now knifed Old Spud in the back, was leader and she too said “Who’s your Daddy?” to which Winston replied “Not bloody you!” She told him in that case he and his tight mates with their expensive underpants could sod off, although she kept some of them around so she still had the numbers.
The party imploded but it refuses to this day to die, like the crocodile himself despite a diet consisting solely of Whiskey and cigarettes.
His power remains, the threat ever present that he will once again thrust himself onto the lead story of the news for weeks at a time to hold the nation to ransom for something called “baubles”.
No one really know what he does with all the baubles. Many think he must have an enormous Christmas tree but others remember and ask "are these the same baubles he spends every campaign telling us he has no interest in?”
Lately the Crocodile has reinvented himself, not just the champion of grey power, not only of the One Nation brigade, but as The Champion of the Tin Foiled.
He’s shown up at Camp Conspiracy, met the flotsam and jetsam outside parliament, and now he represents the underdog against the system. Yes, the pin-striped, senior MP who has been in parliament since Muldoon was popular, is the champion of everyday people against the system!
The numbers are looking good, he hardly ever polls this highly this far from an election, but he is going to have to rekindle some old friendships if he is to ride the wave of populism back to the top.
He wonders what happened to his former deputy. Shane would no doubt be wheeling and dealing, pronouncing “kaimoana”, and many other things, excessively flamboyantly, and probably telling the nephs to get off the couch and get Uncle another Merlot.
Might have to do this one alone the Crocodile thought, Shane’s idea of graft did not involve rolling your sleeves up.
He wondered who might be keen on a coalition and what they might give him, hypothetically of course, if he was actually interested in ornaments.
The Prime Minister’s office - present Jacinda and Grant.
Grant says “it looks from the polls like we might have to talk to Winston again”. Jacinda’s eyes roll faster than a Jaffa down the steps of a cinema in the memory of someone over the age of 40.
They both think of the wonderful moment five year earlier when Winston had announced to the nation that he was going with them. But they also thought of all the dreadful times afterwards as he stymied progress then grinned like the Cheshire Cat to the media, crowing that he was the handbrake keeping the loonie left under control.
A local Cafe - present Christopher, Nicola, and David.
Over brunch, through a mouthful of bacon David said “but how does Winston think he can negotiate to be deputy, obviously that’s me”. Nikki nearly choked on her Spirulina smoothie - “get to the back of the bus boy, I’m clearly the deputy”. Chris said “look we need to consider the big fundamental questions of what we compromise on, not who is deputy”.
David and Nikki looked at each other furiously, what did he mean compromise on who was deputy? “Over my dead body” they both shouted in unison.
This next election is going to be close it is going to be fought on ideas, small government and low taxes vs more government spending. Much divides the country and the election is going to leave one side disappointed but hopefully at least respecting the result.
It’ll be difficult to unite the country if Winston can go either way and he alone decides who wins - again. Hard to take by those who voted for the side he doesn’t choose, just ask the National fans who still believe Bill English won and they only lost because of our electoral system.
Been there done that. I remember in 96 when Winston decided he could get more decorations from National. Most people across the spectrum had thought Winston would choose Helen Clark as PM, not prop up another term of the King Country Tater Tot who’d thrown him out of cabinet in the first place.
At least we weren’t still complaining five year later. Seriously guys? With Paula Bennett and others involved in legal combat against him did anyone really expect Winston to go with National in 2017?
So we have, yet again, the most senior Maori parliamentarian in our country’s history, a man who would be Deputy PM for a third time, a Minister in a fourth government, running on a platform that is anti the Treaty, anti Te Reo, and anti actions that give Maori fairer representation.
Surely this is not the sort of person we want choosing single handedly who the next Prime Minister and government will be in 2023?
Take it out of his control, and never, ever, smile at him - you don’t know what he is imagining.
Although baubles might be a safe bet.
Oh dear! I saw Jenny Mae's interview with old Winnie this morning, on the Breakfast show. When he made his cynical comment about apartheid my thought was Winnie-you are a tosser. You are just playing to the fearful and the racists. I am not surprised that he is doing this ,but I am very surprised that Shane Jones is going along with it. Jones knows very well that it's a false narrative. Along with the other false narratives Winnie is preaching.
So Winnie was collecting votes among the poohs at Camp Conspiracy in which case he did use & abuse his Former MP entitlement.