Destiny Church Bishop Brian Tamaki with Far North mayoral candidate Jay Hepi in Kaikohe. Photo / David Fisher
ANALYSIS:
The first candidate in Brian and Hannah Tamaki's quest for a seat in Parliament has been announced - former gang member Jay Hepi is running to be Mayor of the Far North.
This tentative probe for electoral support at local level is the first the public will see of the Tamakis' plan for next year's national election.
It hasn't happened under the banner of Coalition NZ, the new political party launched by Hannah Tamaki a few months back.
But it has happened with the involvement and support of the main players behind Coalition NZ and its political aspiration.
The local connection to national ambitions should give insight into the plan for next year's general election.
READ MORE
• Destiny's brainchild - former gang leader asking voters to 'man up' in mayoral run
• Brian Tamaki tries to build a rainbow bridge with gay community
• Brian Tamaki's Destiny Church comes of age after a generation of controversy
• Destiny Church's Hannah Tamaki to lead new party 'Coalition New Zealand'
"Plan" might be too much of a strong word - the Tamaki political drive seems largely impulse in motion and any "plan" really has just three moving parts.
To get into Parliament, there's a holy trinity Coalition NZ appears to be banking on coming together.
1: Get out the vote
No one gets elected without votes, and both Hepi and Coalition NZ have their eye on people who don't vote.
That's not uncommon. Politicians of many different stripes have tried and failed to engage with the "missing million".
What's different, in this situation, is the Man Up movement.
It's the programme Hepi credits with turning his life around - the 15-week, Destiny Church-inspired gathering which aims to turn men's lives around by identifying the reasons behind bad decisions and ironing out those wrinkles to build a better man.
There's an associated Legacy programme for women which operates on a similar basis.
Together, Man Up and Legacy are said to offer the promise of a powerful number of doorknocking volunteers to encourage voting.
Not, Tamaki was quick to tell the Herald, a campaign telling people how to vote.
Instead, it would be a campaign which visited eligible voters and encouraged them to cast a ballot.
Hepi is the Far North co-ordinator for Man Up, which claims to have 300 chapters across the country.
When Hepi spoke in Kaikohe today, he told the crowd of around 100 people how he had never voted in local body politics.
Voting statistics show Maori don't head for the ballot box. That's certainly the case in the Far North, which has a higher percentage of Māori than many other parts of New Zealand.
Hepi told the crowd he understood why they didn't vote. It always seemed voting would make little or no difference to him or anyone he knew.
That might be different, though, with a seat at the table - especially at the head of the table.
With Hepi as mayor, he said, the council's focus would be on those communities which felt they didn't have a voice.
Those would be the same communities likely to see Man Up - and Legacy - knocking on doors ahead of the local body election in October. A knock on the door, polite questions about whether they had voted and an offer of a ride to the ballot box (or to drop a postal vote in the letterbox).
If the Man Up group, which sees Tamaki as its spiritual leader, gets boots on the ground doorknocking to encourage voting, it could prove a boost for Hepi.
If it works, it ticks one box of the plan for Election 2020.
2) Issues only some people care about
Brian Tamaki has been throwing wedges into debate all year.
He's used to being on the wrong side of the bulk of public opinion. When he talked about gay people being the metaphysical cause of earthquakes, he was preaching to a small choir.
But there's plenty of other issues he's been happy to raise which will have larger constituencies.
As Tamaki knows, you don't need to have all the people agreeing with you. You don't even need the majority of people onside.
You just need enough to pack out the pews on a Sunday - or, in the political version - get you to 5 per cent.
Tamaki has a practised eye for spotting the disenfranchised.
In this, he has been playing the politics of division since he walked into Waitangi Day and spoke of how Māori were living as "slaves" in New Zealand.
Over a month later, he was loudly opposing Islam even as New Zealand was trying to count the cost. While the Prime Minister talked unity, Tamaki was setting people apart.
Similar followed when the call to prayer was heard across our national broadcasters. His claim of New Zealand being a Christian land fails historically and legally, but there were those with whom it had resonance.
He's hitched his wagon to the "hate speech" mantra which argues that being shut down for being offensive is actually an attack on free speech.
Tamaki has managed to come out against euthanasia while also happily floating (although not directly supporting) the idea of executing third-time child sex offenders.
Tamaki is not only leaning into issues which have sharply polarised views, but he's usually right down one end of the political seesaw.
It's a place where it's easy to know who's against you (almost everyone) and who's on your side (those few who rarely have anyone watching their backs).
The launch of Hepi's campaign saw Tamaki set Kaikohe against Kerikeri, Māori against non-Māori, haves against those who have not.
On a local level, it is not disingenuous. Hepi has lived at the sharp end of the politics of division for years as a Māori man and a gang member.
Hepi and wife Megan, who have raised five children together, live the politics of division every day. They're in Kaikohe, just 20 minutes drive from "Las Vegas", as Tamaki calls Kerikeri.
You couldn't have two more different towns. It is literally a polarised community, which is perfect for what appears to be Tamaki's inclination to strike and divide.
In a national race, Tamaki appears to have fastened on the Trumpian tactic of seeking out those things which divide rather than unite.
3) In discord, find unity.
Coalition NZ appears to be named for its purpose - to provide an umbrella under which others can gather.
The party was set up with a name which forecasts its hopes of a hook-up.
There's a scattergun of small and conservative parties lining up for next year's election. Aside from Coalition NZ, there's the New Conservatives, the Opportunities Party, the Māori Party, United Future.
And there's the Mana Movement, with leader Hone Harawira pictured recently with Tamaki.
Those behind Coalition NZ know it's a hard shot getting 5 per cent alone. They also know votes under that cut-off point are wasted without the springboard of an electorate seat.
Jevan Goulter, the campaign manager for Coalition NZ, has connections to Harawira, TOP and the Māori Party.
He will be hustling for common ground, talking to those involved in parties who don't have a hope of making it alone but could bring support which would benefit others.
It's likely he'll be considering Harawira's chance of running successfully in Te Tai Tokerau. Tamaki's campaign against the seat's incumbent Kelvin Davis is probably not just a matter of chance.
Goulter also has a track record of bringing together people to support unlikely causes.
It was Goulter who brokered the high-powered support behind singer Chris Brown's attempt to bypass a record of domestic abuse to enter New Zealand in 2015. Goulter arranged support from Dame Tariana Turia, Dame June Mariu, Dame June Jackson, Lady Tureiti-Moxon and Dame Iritana Tawhiwhirangi.
Goulter is also behind the board of the Māori Carbon Foundation, which is led by Sir Mark Solomon, and features Harawira and Turia along with former National Party cabinet minister Murray McCully and former National Party president Michelle Boag.
Goulter is a political creature whose fleeting brush with the Labour Party still has those with memories long enough blanching when his name is spoken aloud.
He's older (30) now and a political operator with a keen eye for advantage and opportunity.
In Coalition NZ, with the support of his close friends the Tamakis, Goulter has also found a political home where his more extreme ideas don't cause anyone to bat an eyelid.
The 19-year-old disappeared without her wallet or mobile phone.