Upholding the rule of Laws

Michael Laws says he will not moderate his style of communication. Photo / Wanganui Chronicle

Michael Laws sits in an empty room surrounded by piles of documents, copies of his own books and a toilet roll. He is reading aloud nonsense written by a man named Richard.

"I was going to donate to the Samoan tsunami victims, but then I looked at my fortnightly payments going to Samoan criminals, Samoan cripples and Samoan dole bludgers already in New Zealand and decided against it," Richard writes.

Laws, the mayor of Wanganui since 2004 and the man known almost solely for his blunt barbs, appears to have undergone a New Testament-style conversion when he responds. He is now preaching the brotherhood of man: "Our brown brothers and sisters are devastated by this natural disaster. Samoans are absolutely outstanding citizens," he says. "Dear God, would we have a sports team without them?"

A new leaf? Hardly. Laws is just stirring the talkback pot and soon he gets the bubbles he wants: a storm of slurs that will take his Radio Live show though from nine until noon. Dave is worried about Chinese expansion into the Pacific, and Rosemary recounts one time she was in Middlemore Hospital and "big fat Pacific Islanders clogged up the beds". Trevor reckons "the fat rednecks should pull their heads in", while Jillian fears that "white liberals, the PC ones, are going to be the moral downfall of this country".

Throughout all this Laws is calm at the centre of the storm he created. "It helps to have strong conservative opinions," he says. "It sets up the show nicely." And the Michael Laws Show now stretches far beyond Radio Live or the district of Wanganui.

Aside from dealing with constituents, Laws says Talkback Host Michael operates identically to Mayor Michael. "I am a populist, and if you are opposed to popular opinion you are opposed to democracy," he says. "I am paid to be an opinion maker."

His style was forged in national politics, and if it wasn't for a silly prank involving a forged signature and a fictional transvestite, he might today be occupying a position of prominence in the National Government. But despite his key role in the 1996 election, when he guided New Zealand First to a result that gave it 17 MPs and a place around the Cabinet table, Laws reckons his brand has never been stronger than it is today. "I have been more influential, locally and nationally, as mayor than I ever was as an MP."

Whereas most provincial mayors occupy themselves solely with footpaths and drains, Laws sees the mayoralty as a skeleton key to any door he cares to open. Brandishing a well-thumbed and highlighted copy of the Local Government Act 2002, he points to a section outlining the responsibilities of local councils. "It's virtually a licence to do anything you want," he enthuses. "I can enter into a national debate on something - like the anti-smacking bill - on the basis that it affects my constituents."

Laws, wearing black jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt, looks like a nihilist and speaks like a man self-possessed. He rests his black sneakers on the mayoral desk while recounting how he refashioned the Wanganui Council in his own image. The hallway to his office is decked out with every single newspaper editorial cartoon Laws has featured in, and the door is flanked by a giant-size campaign screen composed mostly of his face. The waiting room magazine collection includes the Economist and serious artwork decorates the walls.

"We liberated - that's the word I use - art from the Sarjeant Gallery," says Laws. He's proud of smashing what he calls the art "lobby group" that wanted an extension built to the gallery, but Laws' liberation has yet to benefit the public - he says that only the council building itself has benefited from the spoils of his raid.

Those close to Laws are also fans of strong arms and the flexing of muscles. His partner and mother of their three children, Leonie Brookhammer, last night wore three coats of "dream tan" and competed as a bodybuilder in the River City Classic. The couple separated earlier this year but reconciled recently and Brookhammer still bears the title of Mayoress. She entered the "novice figure" section to encourage local support for an event that was last held in Wanganui 20 years ago.

"One makes sacrifices when one is the mayoress," she says. Her diet now consists of chicken - "grilled or boiled" - and black coffee. "Your breath becomes hideous," she says.

"The last person you'd want to have sex with," adds Laws.

Brookhammer has brought their son Theo into the mayoral chambers to celebrate his first birthday. With teething and the flu, Theo is not in the mood for celebrating. With a spread of savories and cakes, Laws doesn't even spare the mother of his children from cutting barbs: "Why don't you just eat sensibly and have a savory?" he taunts.

"She's got long legs, wide shoulders, and I thought it'd be brilliant. What I didn't realise is that bodybuilding isn't a sport - it's a religious cult practised by disturbed individuals."

Last year it was revealed their 3-year-old daughter, Lucy, had leukaemia. At one stage her father said she had only a 10 per cent chance of survival. Now Brookhammer says Lucy is doing well. "She's really good. Sometime you forget that she has cancer."

Out of the office, Laws travels by car - getting lost along the way in his own city - and finds two men in a shed, standing proudly alongside a 75mm artillery gun. Much like Laws, the cannon is a restored, polished, machine of mass destruction with a long and tortuous past.

The gun, a Krupp manufactured in Germany in the 19th century, was commissioned by Orange Free State forces to fight the British in the Boer War. It was later captured by the British, who gave it as a token of gratitude to New Zealand forces that fought in the 1899-1902 conflict. It found its way to Wanganui and, after being buried in a panic after Pearl Harbour and exhumed in 1956, it ended up on display in a dishevelled state in the Wanganui Regional Museum. Volunteers removed the cannon from the museum in 2006 and its restoration is almost complete.

The prospect of owning real piece of artillery is of much interest to Laws - who is something of a loose cannon used to levelling verbal broadsides. "Isn't this wonderful," he says. "Tell me how much you need to make it fireable."

Geoff Lawson, who's overseen the restoration, sketches out plans for a jury-rigged trigger mechanism using pieces from an antique flintlock rifle. "About $500, and maybe $9000 more to build a limber."

So with a vice-like handshake, council procedure is side-stepped and $10,000 of ratepayers' money is committed getting the cannon into working order. Laws plans to wheel the gun out on Anzac day to fire blanks. Is the mayor planning on lighting the fuse himself? "I certainly intend to."

Driving back to the office, Laws outlines his approach: "My job is to make these things happen - and find the money. If it ends up in the council machinery, it would be in front of a council committee meeting in November and nothing would happen this year," he says.

Long meetings and due process aren't Laws' style. His guiding force is public opinion, but he says he doesn't poll Wanganui - he rules from the gut. He justifies his blunt leadership style by appealing to the "silent majority" that Richard Nixon made famous. He says he won his fight with Otaki schoolchildren over the spelling of Wanganui because self-selecting online opinion polls told him so.

His mayoralty has been striking in its use of referenda. He has asked voters to decide whether to raise rates or cut budgets, and how to prioritise capital spending. The possibility of mob rule, or the referenda-caused bankruptcy of the state of California aren't an issue in Wanganui, says Laws. "You've got to rely in the good sense of the community and the good sense of the council in drafting these questions."

In Wanganui Laws drafts the questions. If he lived in the United States where judges are elected, he could easily appropriate Judge Dredd's catchphrase for use as his campaign slogan: "I am the Laws."

He has a warning for the "liberal media" and given half a chance he'll issue the opposite of keys to the city. He's particularly incensed by the Dominion Post, which he says called him for comment on gangs, murders and the letter "h" furore, but didn't cover the opening of a new sewage treatment plant. "I'm thinking of banning them from the city," he says.

Laws will probably run for a third term as mayor, and will continue to walk a fine line positioning himself on side with his silent majority and damning everyone else. But it's not a strategy without risk.

Earlier, when on-air and lambasting Civil Defence over its tsunami warning that turned into a damp squid, Laws said: "When the real disaster happens, people like me will be in ascendance.

"We will drive to the beach, and as the 10m high wave approaches we will say 'Oh, holy crap'. And those will be the last three words we utter."

That might be a metaphor for what will happen if he ever misjudges the public mood.