In adversarial politics, every candidate deserves respect

Sir Bob Jones

Most of us have had euphoric moments so overwhelming as to be etched on one's memory evermore.

Perhaps relating to an achievement such as a sporting success, such is the ecstasy one feels almost air-borne. My supreme euphoric moment came after midnight in June, 1984. As New Zealand Party leader, pressured to be simultaneously everywhere, I'd been persuaded by my friend Mike Bungay, later a QC, to attend his candidate's meeting earlier that evening, for the Wellington's Miramar electorate. As always there was a packed hall.

I sat on the stage silently despairing while Mike, as was his wont, making it up as he went, spouted nonsense about the fishing industry, of which he knew nothing. We had the wind behind us with enthusiastic audiences.

Nevertheless it hugely offended my sensibilities. It recalled Mike's days in the early 1960s as a young lawyer. Once called at short notice by the Police to act for a Maori lad on criminal charges, he was delayed, arriving just as his "client" entered the box and before he could talk to him. Mike listened to the evidence then rose and spoke in mitigation of the accused's background; of how his father was serving a life-sentence, his mother had committed suicide and his sisters were all on the game.

But, he said, he had now become a Christian and was soon to start a carpentry apprenticeship. The accused had listened to all of this in bewildered silence, but it greatly moved the magistrate, who to the anger of the Police, acquitted him and wished him well.

Anyway, arriving home after midnight, still despairing, the phone rang. That call was undoubtedly my supreme moment for sheer ecstasy when I learned Muldoon had called a snap election. Oh the joy! Only one more month and then release. I floated on air throughout that campaign in glorious high spirits, enthralled by the knowledge that it would soon be over, yet compared with most party leaders my role was a breeze.

Every night, everywhere, we enjoyed full hall meetings, often with loudspeakers booming to thousands outside, which certainly wasn't the case with National while Social Credit's leader Bruce Beetham, was speaking to near empty venues. No one attacked us, indeed Labour, understandably, was providing the party with guidance.

Nevertheless, I had loathed every moment of the previous two years, the gruelling seven days a week speechifying at midday and again in the evening, the endless policy meetings, the sometimes deliberate media misrepresentations and the constant fear of a candidate's outburst of insanity. I was lucky on that score as our candidates, primarily drawn from the professions and commercial classes, were motivated by promoting liberal reforms rather than being MPs, but as this year has evidenced, that's a recurring nightmare for party leaders. Watching embarrassing candidates' outbursts from the sidelines ever since, and God knows, they're regular occurrences, still brings shudders, albeit they're frequently amusing. For example, during the 1992 Wellington Central by-election I was having an early dinner with Labour doyen Jonathan Hunt who was lamenting their candidate Chris Laidlaw's extraordinary opening campaign speech. Chris's message to our then wealthiest electorate, to the delight of the media, was to promote tax increases on higher incomes.

Then talk of the devil, in came Chris with some minders. Mustering his maximum patriarchal manner, as only Jonathan could do, he demanded Chris tell him what he would be discussing at that night's meeting. "I thought I'd talk about myxomatosis", Chris said, this, I remind readers, to the most urban of electorates. "A first rate topic," Jonathan barked. "Under no circumstances stray from it." As it happened Chris won after the rival candidates came out with even barmier utterances, one outlining his concerns about alien invasions.

But it's not just the relentless grind of campaigning that's so wearying, rather the soul-destroying negativity of adversarial politics, bound up in constant criticism of one's rivals and their policies or records. No matter how zealous for the cause, ultimately it's deeply depressing to be in a perpetual state of warfare, unlike sport and commerce, both adversarial but not involving abuse of rivals.

It's fashionable to criticise politicians. Many are undoubtedly motivated by an income and attention they could not otherwise attain, others by idealism or party tribalism. But it's the system and for all its faults, it's superior to the options.

This week we go to the polls and for circa 700 candidates and thousands of unseen hard-toiling party workers, it represents in many cases the culmination of years of relentless hard grind. So for all one's cynicism spare a kind thought for them, more so as by numerical logic the vast majority are doomed to disappointment. Trust me it ain't easy and without them we'd have no democracy.