Dialogue: The art of moving from 'mousy' to 'authoritarian'

By GORDON McLAUCHLAN

Before the last election, Prime Minister-to-be Helen Clark said supporting literature and the arts was not just a matter of money. I think she was right. It's a matter of acknowledging the sector's true value in an economy built on the service sector, followed by shrewd investment, especially among those who actually make something of our own out of nothing: writers, composers, painters, sculptors, designers, choreographers.

And yet, only two things Clark has done since the election suggest she believes anything really needs to be done except to splash out a few million dollars. One is the impending rescue of the Author's Fund from the back rooms of Creative New Zealand, where it never really belonged, and the second is her clear and conspicuous interest in artistic things.

Perhaps I shouldn't underestimate these two things. The Author's Fund is not a grant but an entitlement - payment to writers for the free public use of books through the library system. That's not just a matter of money but of fairness, and I understand the Government plans to give this fund the status it deserves and holds in many other Western countries.

And Clark's own attitude towards literature and the arts is positive, and demonstrated by her own attendance and support of artistic events, an interest shown by none of her recent predecessors.

It's been intriguing to watch the unveiling of her personality since she came under the scrutiny that follows leadership; or should that be the media's interpretation of her personality? I remember the talk about her when she first became leader of the Opposition. She was competent, said journalists but with underfunded charisma. "Mousy" was a word used often enough.

After she had been Prime Minister for a short time, it was agreed she was actually a notch above competent. Clever perhaps. Then, as a result of some early ructions in her cabinet, she was pronounced "tough," "ruthless," and perhaps overly precipitous. Linda Clark on television asked her if she was "a control freak," which was another way of suggesting she was.

Next, Colin James, in this newspaper, compared her with Queen Elizabeth 1 and some of us quailed at the thought of being imprisoned in the Tower and beheaded.

Last week, Chris Trotter, a left-of-centre columnist for the Independent, decided she was in the Kiwi "strong leader" line of descent from Dick Seddon, through to Rob Muldoon. He even hinted she had Muldoon's political vices, without his political virtue of loyalty to his troops. Trotter made the valid point that her premature ejection of Marion Hobbs and Phillida Bunkle might suggest to muckrakers like Richard Prebble that to accuse is enough if to prove is too difficult.

And so she has moved from mousy to authoritarian in a couple of years and has become more and more popular for it, according to the polls. I think this is because, as history suggests, for good or for bad, New Zealanders like a bossy edge to government and, after the profligacy of the 1990s, a more austere leadership suits us too right now.

But it's the transformation that the ascension to power brings that intrigues me, the leap Clark has made from cypher to Big Sister. We should not underestimate the affect of the office itself. Jimmy Breslin, an American writer of two decades ago who stood for office in New York, wrote of a political campaign: "If people think you have power then you have power. If people think you have no power then you have no power."

He was borrowing from the 17th century philosopher Thomas Hobbes who wrote: "The reputation of power is power. Power is an illusion."

I've twice seen this demonstrated negatively. Late one Friday afternoon I was in Queens Arcade at the foot of Queen St when I recognised a man in late middle-age struggling to maintain order over a recalcitrant young boy. It was Bob Tizard, only a few years before, the second most powerful man in the country. An hour later I was crossing Queen Elizabeth Square when my path crossed that of a small, greying man in the crowd, hands deep in the pockets of a dark blue windbreaker, head and shoulders stooped into the wind that whips up from the harbour. It was Dr Martyn Finlay, former Justice Minister and Attorney-General, an admirable man. The illusion of power had long gone from both of them.

And then in the mid-eighties, I sat next to Rob Muldoon at a luncheon in the then Regent Hotel. Years before I had interviewed him twice for magazine articles and felt the tension of his animosity. This day, well after he had fallen from office, he was just another fat little man at lunch.

In the meantime, Clark holds sway with Hobbes' "reputation of power" and we will watch with profound interest how her personality continues to unfold, or how the media will unfold it for her. Is she ruthless? I was struck by a remark the other day from a journalistic friend well to the right on the political spectrum. I knew he had once regarded her as, well, androgynous. Now he says she has warm eyes and a gentle manner. "I really like her," he said, surprised by his own response.

How much and for how long? We'll see.