“Displaying utter disdain for the idea that citizens should be able to afford the food that our land and water produces? That’s callousness right there,” writes Brian Tweed. (Image: RNZ)

There’s a disturbing new tone coming from government and industry leaders that betrays a total disdain for ordinary citizens, writes Brian Tweed.

Last week, I had the misfortune of watching two short news reports on TVNZ. One was about the changes the government is making to the way we can vote, and the other was an exchange with Miles Hurrell, the CEO of Fonterra, about the price of butter.

At first glance, these two issues may seem unrelated. But, to me, they are two strains of the same disease — a callous disdain for the lives that most New Zealanders live, and an especially callous focus on dehumanising people in the corrections system, and diminishing their human rights.

I came away from these two short reports with a sense of dread and disgust. So much so that the thought even crossed my mind: Should I leave New Zealand to find a better place to live? I know I’m not the only one who’s asked that question lately.

Changing the way we vote

Justice minister Paul Goldsmith has proposed changes to the electoral system, which include closing voter enrolment 13 days before election day and reinstating a total ban on prisoner voting.

These changes come from a punishment-oriented mentality in the National Party, and they punch down on ordinary people and those in prison.

The reason given for the first change is predictably bureaucratic — it will make vote counting easier, reducing pressure on the post-election processing period, and so on.

What they don’t say, of course, is that these late enrollers are unlikely to vote for any of the coalition parties, although this fact must be well-known to Paul Goldsmith and his colleagues.

They don’t mention either that over half the prison population is Māori. We know by now that removing Māori rights by stealth is a key feature of this government’s actions.

In the news report announcing the changes, we were also treated to the deputy prime minister calling people who don’t enrol early enough “dropkicks”.

Just like that, the government’s contempt for ordinary New Zealanders was laid bare — we out here are dropkicks because we’re not organised in the way that the deputy prime minister thinks we should be.

How typical of this government: it defines how “real“ or “good” people should behave, and then uses laws and regulations to punish and exclude anyone who falls outside their definition. They’ve been doing this to Māori since taking office.

But there’s a sticking point to the electoral changes: the United Nations Declaration of Human Rights, to which New Zealand is a signatory, and the New Zealand Bill of Rights Act.

Article 21 of the UN Declaration of Human Rights states:

1. Everyone has the right to take part in the government of his [sic] country, directly or through freely chosen representatives.
2. Everyone has the right to equal access to public service in his country.
3. The will of the people shall be the basis of the authority of government; this will shall be expressed in periodic and genuine elections which shall be by universal and equal suffrage and shall be held by secret vote or by equivalent free voting procedures.

And the Bill of Rights Act, Clause 12, states that every New Zealand citizen aged 18 or older:

(a) has the right to vote in genuine periodic elections of members of the House of Representatives, which elections shall be by equal suffrage and by secret ballot; and

(b) is qualified for membership of the House of Representatives.

Neither of these legal frameworks says anything about denying citizens the right to vote because they didn’t meet an artificial deadline fabricated by the government of the day.

Administrative manageability is obviously necessary, but this can never override human rights, or create the potential for a denial of a human right, even if only a relatively small number of people suffer.

Remarkably, the Attorney General, Judith Collins, has made essentially the same points. She notes that people released from prison within that 13-day window should be able to vote.

There are also a significant number of people who are likely to turn 18 in that window and should be able to vote. (I estimate this is roughly 2,500 as a proportion of the 64,000 or so people born in 2008).

A little bit of denial of a human right, just like a little bit of racism, or a little bit of corruption, is not okay.

Imposing such a deadline — especially one that disproportionately affects people already marginalised by government systems, including Māori, Pacific, and young people — at the very least creates the potential for breaches of both the UN Declaration of Human Rights and the Bill of Rights Act.

Even if people are simply disorganised or disengaged, and certainly could have met the deadline had they shown more initiative, energy, interest, or whatever, it’s entirely irrelevant as a basis for denying a human right.

But this government seems to believe that being disorganised makes you less than human, and less deserving of rights.

Now let’s think about the other exclusion proposed. Reinstating a total ban on prisoner voting. Scan the UNDHM and the Bill of Rights Act to see if this is a legal and moral action, and, you guessed it, it’s not there.

If you’re a citizen, you have the right to vote, and that is a human right. The only conclusion is that this government doesn’t think people in jail are human.

The New Zealand courts have ruled on this too — most notably in the case of Tayler vs Attorney General 2015/2018 — concluding that a blanket stripping of the right to vote for prisoners breaches the Bill of Rights Act.

It’s very hard to see the reasoning for excluding people in jail, apart from the obvious point that they probably won’t vote for the coalition parties.

It must boil down to a wish to further punish, which is indefensible. People in jail are already receiving their punishments, so why are they being punished again by having voting rights stripped from them?

It’s a callous disregard of basic humanity.

Fonterra CEO, Miles Hurrell. (Photo: RNZ)

The price of butter

According to Miles Hurrell, CEO of Fonterra, the high price of butter is a “good news” story for New Zealand.

In typical neoliberal fashion, Hurrell explains that the profit from international butter sales is good for the New Zealand economy.

When asked why New Zealanders must pay an international price for butter produced on our own doorstep, Hurrell dodged the question. He said that Fonterra doesn’t have a local price for butter. Why not? No clear answer.

When asked again, he gave the same non-answer. Apparently, it’s just not a game that Fonterra plays.

And then the callousness. Miles claimed to understand the pain of high butter prices, because he, too, buys butter from the supermarket.

This, from a man earning $6 million a year.

Really, Miles? You understand how high butter prices affect people on low incomes?

In whose world is expensive butter good news? Sure, it’s profitable for Fonterra and the dairy farmers — but for other New Zealanders, it’s just another burden.

Meanwhile, we all pay the costs of having our country geared toward intensive dairy production for export — in poor water quality, degraded soil, greenhouse gas emissions, and brutally high domestic prices for pantry staples, to name a few.

If the law can be changed so easily to deny the basic human right of voting, why not use the law to require a domestic price for dairy so that everyone who pays the costs of production — which is all of us — sees some real, tangible return beyond the lip-service of a “trickle down” market impact?

Callousness binds them all

What we’re witnessing is the willingness of this government, and the leaders of industry who support it, to normalise this callousness.

It’s one thing to be out of touch with the reality of New Zealanders’ lives — plenty of politicians have been guilty of this. But it’s another entirely to make your contempt and disregard for most of the population so obvious — to use words like “bottom-feeders” and “dropkicks” to describe those who don’t share your privilege.

Making it harder for people to exercise their right to vote because it makes things more convenient for you? Stripping the right to vote from prisoners because you don’t think they count as people?

Displaying utter disdain for the idea that citizens should be able to afford the food that our land and water produces? Refusing to develop and implement a domestic price solution in favour of blaming the global market?

That’s callousness right there. From both our political and industry leaders.

It’s no wonder so many of us are leaving the country.

Brian Tweed is originally from the UK. He has worked extensively as a mathematics and science teacher and advisor in both English-medium and Māori-medium schools in New Zealand for the past 30 years. Brian is currently a senior lecturer in Te Kura o te Mātauranga, Te Kunenga ki Pūrehūroa / Massey University, teaching the history, sociology and politics of education.

E-Tangata, 2025