He then reintroduced British imperial honours long since ditched by Labour despite no apparent demand for knights and dames in a nation that claims it pioneered egalitarianism. Again the voters grinned.
Shortly after taking office and nursing a broken arm, Key was jostled by Maori protestors at a Treaty of Waitangi celebration. Clark had refused to attend earlier events after similar insulting behaviour, but Key laughed off the incident and continued making concessions to Maori.
These included happily allowing the Maori flag to be flown on public buildings. Had Clark promoted such a gesture she would have inflamed the lunar right. But who would dare oppose a winner, particularly one who slashed top-end income tax?
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This huge concession to the rich at the height of the recession came with a GST rise to 15 per cent that brutally whacked workers. They were already facing lengthening dole queues and new laws allowing instant dismissal in their first three months, with no recourse.
Such blatant attacks on the blue-collar classes by a man with an estimated $50 million should have roused the masses. Yet this and other factors, like an expose of politicians rorting their allowances, failed to fuel hate. Again the Key factor. He seems such a relaxed, friendly, self-deprecating guileless guy he’s impossible to dislike. Or distrust.
He remained unfazed when tens of thousands took to the streets to oppose mining on conservation land. The idea came from a colleague. Key flicked the issue away and talked instead about his vasectomy, successfully diverting public attention.
His success can’t just be put down to a lazy opposition led by 30-year veteran Phil Goff, 57, a professional politician with a long, though unspectacular record in government.
Key, 49, isn’t a career politician and that’s to his advantage. He only entered Parliament in 2002 and wears no albatrosses. Although backed by conservatives he’s no slave to Tory ideology and the old conflicts over issues like race seem absent from his portfolio. He defines himself as a centrist.
Despite his great wealth Key was brought up in a State home by his Austrian-Jewish mother after the death of his English immigrant father. Key doesn’t play on his poor childhood, but instead projects a friendly guy-next-door persona, a bloke who wouldn’t burn the snags at a neighbourly barbecue.
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He’d have a beer but wouldn’t get drunk. He’d tell mildly funny stories about his teenage kids that would resonate with other parents. Confrontationists would get placated, and his childhood sweetheart and stay-at-home wife Bronagh would turn out to be small-town charming. So refreshing after Clark’s army of hairy-armpit feminists full of aggro, bashing society into their image.
During the Christchurch earthquake and last year’s Pike River mine disaster where 29 men lost their lives, Key handled the tragedies well, easily and naturally finding the right heartfelt tone.
All this makes politics across the Tasman as exciting as a flat Pavlova. Parliament is boisterous but lacks the grudges and savagery of Canberra. It hasn’t always been so - NZ politics in the past has been rough and brutal. Opposing South African rugby apartheid, US nuclear fleets and French terrorist bombings has given the nation a reputation for guts and principle.
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