Paul Little: Key and his jokes not the villains

Key used humour to protect himself, not those who needed protection. Photo / HOS

Nothing will get you into quite such unpleasant trouble as a badly pitched joke - such is the power of humour to outrage. So it was that John Key was vilified at the Apec summit for apparently making light of the flight of the vicious child abuser and killer Philip John Smith to Chile and Brazil.

He was doing no such thing. This was humour performing one of its most important functions: helping us deal with the unpalatable, the unpleasant or the unspeakable. It is why so much humour is about sex, death and lawyers.

Here was Key in his happy place - the world stage - about to be embarrassed by meeting the leader of Chile, whither our system had allowed Smith to flee during what turned out to be a very brief escape from justice.

Asked what he would say when he met Michelle Bachelet, Key said he would warn her that someone was arriving whom "you may not want to invite round for lunch". Technically, this is the humorous strategy known as litotes or understatement, although Key, a gifted amateur in the quips game, probably wasn't aware of this.

As the Australian comic Wendy Harmer once wisely observed "Comedy isn't pretty". And although Key will probably never be offered a seat at the writers' table for The Daily Show, he does have an instinct for using humour efficiently. In this case, unfortunately, it was to protect himself, not those who needed protection.

Was the joke "disgusting"? Not especially. It certainly wasn't as disgusting as the faults in the system that were brought to light by Smith's flight; nor the attempts to defend the screw-up by those who should have never let it happen; nor the willingness of media to give space to the self-serving psychopathic narcissist's mealy-mouthed self-justifications, which he immediately began sending back from abroad; nor the torrent of sanctimony that was unleashed in those who rushed to attack Key for his gaffe, motivated not so much by a sense of personal outrage as by the opportunity to have a go at him.

It would probably be ridiculously optimistic to expect that the councillors of a city whose most significant building is an oil refinery would be enthusiastic about the prospect of a world-class arts centre appearing in their midst.

Which is why the debate in Whangarei over the Hundertwasser Art Centre - plans for which stretch back more than 20 years - has dragged on at a length that is excruciating even by small-town council standards.

When it became clear that the council would not stump up the necessary funds, a high-minded group of locals offered to fund it at no cost to ratepayers.

Anyone who thought that would resolve things happily failed to take into account the determined philistinism of the small-town mind set. Some of Whangarei's councillors are so hellbent on depriving their town of the opportunity for a unique and inspiring public amenity that they decided ongoing costs would be too burdensome and it should not proceed.

They clearly don't understand the concept of destination buildings, or as the managers of the Sydney Opera House, Guggenheim Bilbao, Tasmania's Museum of Modern and New Art and others refer to them: "nice little earners" because people go out of their way to visit them.

Last week it was decided, reluctantly, to hold a referendum on the proposal. To scrap the plan would be a loss not just for those supporting it now but for generations to come. At present there is no reason whatsoever for visitors to stop in Whangarei. With the Hundertwasser Arts Centre, there would be.

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