No one could reasonably begrudge David Shearer about now were he to lean back on his chaise lounge, log on to his New York bank account and let out a sigh of relief. A text message might arrive on his phone, from Phil Goff, saying something like, "Show me the money!" The series of mishaps that have befallen their successor as Labour leader, David Cunliffe, the very man whose supporters made their own tenures difficult, bears out Helen Clark's observation that Leader of the Opposition is "the hardest job in politics". In the past fortnight, however, the unmistakable impression is that it is Cunliffe who is making it hard.
The bungled detail on the "baby bonus" policy. The backfiring remarks about John Key's Parnell home. The policy paper emailed by his office to a Government minister. And, far the most important, the admission that in breach of Labour's professed embracing of transparency, he employed a trust structure to enable anonymous donations to his leadership campaign. It's not long before discrete missteps start to look like a giant pratfall. The most recent revelation, of his late declaration of involvement in a financial trust, on its own amounts to almost nothing. But in a week like this, it sticks.
Worse still, it could hardly have been better choreographed to suit the National Party's soundtrack, an attack strategy which in essence obliges every Government MP to say several thousand times daily that David Cunliffe is "tricky". To even casual political observers, it's taking on the sound of fingernails on a blackboard, while foreign visitors are left puzzled by the incessant references to the Labour leader as a lorry driver. But it's proving remarkably effective.
In the general parliamentary debate on Wednesday afternoon, Cunliffe gave the strongest and most substantial speech. But no one paid much attention because, as Amy Adams said by way of introduction, "What a week for David Cunliffe!" And to the stock epithet of Tricky Dave, she added Shady Dave, Disloyal Dave, Dodgy Dave and Devious Dave. For all Adams' impressive use of alliteration, however, any of her Christchurch constituents listening would have waited in vain for any mention of the fact that much of their city was under water.
Part of the strength of Project Tricky is that it prods ceaselessly at a nerve within the Labour caucus itself. The persistent whispered complaint from Cunliffe's colleagues is that they still don't really know who he is. Is he for real, is he authentic? It's not an easy one to square and, paradoxically, the strident speeches of recent months have only added to that puzzlement. He has, at least, demonstrated a humility some of his colleagues claim not to have seen previously, in admitting errors and lapses of judgment in the past fortnight. It's just that there have been rather too many admissions, too many lapses.
