Tapu Misa: Easy to lose ideals after too much power

The passing of Tonga's King Taufa'ahau Tupou IV puts me in mind of Alfred Tennyson's epic poem, Morte d'Arthur.

In the final verses, as the mortally wounded King Arthur is farewelled by the last Round Table knight, the loyal Sir Bedivere, the grieving knight laments the imminent death of his king and what he realises is the end of the true old times, and the bleak prospect of future years among new men, strange faces, other minds.

The dying king's last words to him are about not just the inevitability of change, but also its desirability, its necessity: "The old order changeth, yielding place to new, And God fulfils Himself in many ways, Lest one good custom should corrupt the world ... "

Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.

Taufa'ahau Tupou IV, who even before his death was deified by many subjects, probably began with similar lofty ideals and ambitions as Arthur, but he was a monarch who held too much power for too long, and Tonga suffered for it.

He was Tonga's first university graduate, and like his great grandfather, Tupou I, he had big dreams for Tonga. The first Tupou united Tonga and gave the island kingdom its revolutionary 1875 constitution, freeing Tongans from the power of the chiefs (partly for his own ends), and granting all Tongans the fundamental rights of free speech, freedom of the press, freedom of religion, the right to own property and land, and the right to a free education.

Taking over after the death of his mother, the much-loved Queen Salote, Tupou IV had the vision, and the power as an absolute monarch, to transform Tonga into a modern, highly educated state - and, in the early years of his reign, he was largely successful.

But somewhere along the line, he seemed to lose sight of that vision. He used his powers to dismiss ministers who disagreed with him, and became increasingly cloistered, surrounded by fawning courtiers who referred to him in godly terms, and susceptible to scoundrels peddling get-rich quick schemes.

He was the once-powerful athlete who turned to fat, the scholar who turned to wild, high-risk schemes, and the reformer who wasn't prepared for the consequences of those reforms, especially when it called on him to change, to cede some of his considerable power.

So Tupou IV's legacy, as Ian Campbell, a history professor at the University of the South Pacific in Suva, has written, is ambiguous, and not as black-and-white as the Mayor of Wanganui, Michael Laws, would have it. Laws called the deceased monarch a bloated, brown slug on radio, an insult which caused offence even to those Tongans who might otherwise have agreed with Law's assessment on the state of the island nation.

I daresay Laws saw his refusal to lower the Wanganui District Council flag as a matter of principle, but his attitude was in marked contrast to Close Up's Mark Sainsbury, who reported from Nuku'alofa dressed with the traditional taovala mat worn around his waist. While Laws was refusing to concede any marks of respect, my children's schools were relaxing their uniform rules, allowing Tongan students to show their respect by turning up to school in traditional mourning garb.

Civility and respect is a hallmark of Tongan culture but it's not usually much in evidence in mainstream New Zealand culture. At least, not if the past few months on the political landscape are anything to go by.

I'm not sure this was the lowest point to which our elected representatives have taken us, but I think it's safe to say that this last week won't go down as the high-water mark of New Zealand politics.

Who threw the first stone? Who cares? What's clear is that hardly anyone has emerged from this looking squeaky-clean. No one can lay claim to the moral high ground with any confidence.

The recent hall of infamy includes National MP Judith Collins, who went several insults too far when she called Labour's David Benson-Pope a pervert, but had to choke back tears last week, at the thought of children being hurt by the disclosure of Don Brash's as yet undenied inconstancy; Don Brash, who kept trying to characterise this Government as the most corrupt in the history of Western civilisation, prompting them to question his relationship with the Business Roundtable's Number 2; and Labour's Trevor Mallard, aided by the aforementioned Benson-Pope, whose parliamentary jibes led to Don's outing, but not, it would seem, to any diminishment in his appeal to voters.

If it's edification you seek, don't look to Parliament.

Or indeed to Investigate magazine, which this week published a nasty piece of unsubstantiated rumour masquerading as serious journalism about the Prime Minister's husband, Peter Davis, that no one in their right minds could possibly take seriously. The basis for which seemed to be a photograph of Davis clandestinely (that is, in front of a TV camera and an audience of thousands) hugging a close friend of the family, Dr Ian Scott, who just happens to be gay.

When TV3 captured the New Zealand First MP Ron Mark giving someone the fingers in the House a few months ago, someone wrote that Mark's misdemeanour was reassuring because it showed that MPs were human.

But I think that misses the point. It's not the human element of our elected representatives that's in question. It's their ability to rise above it.