Remember this? A thousand years ago, there was a telly game show called Deal or No Deal. For some inexplicable reason, this was so popular it was franchised in countries around the world. It might have been the most boring game show in the history of game shows – other than the game show that has been the coalition negotiations.
In Deal or No Deal, if a contestant opted for a deal, one of the “briefcase beauties” – all dressed identically in sexy, spangled, cleavage-enhancing frocks – would open her briefcase to reveal whether you had won a measly dollar, or, rarely, a million bucks. In the US, the show catapulted “briefcase beauty” Meghan Markle, now known, usually with derision, as the Duchess of Sussex, to the lower rungs of B-list fame.
If we ever again have to endure another coalition negotiation like this one, could we at least stage episodes of Deal or No Deal? And the briefcase is opened to reveal … ministerial positions! If you are a lucky MP, your briefcase contains deputy prime minister. If your luck sucks, it contains minister for potholes. At least the addition of briefcase beauties would make the photo ops for coalition talks more exciting.
The official “look at us, merrily negotiating away like mad” photo of Christopher Luxon, David Seymour and Winston Peters was released 10 days ago. There were no spangled frocks, just boring suits and awful ties. If we had briefcase beauties, at least we could all go “Phwoar! Nice knockers!” Not that we would, of course. We are all feminists now. Except, quite possibly, those three geezers in boring suits and awful ties. You cannot imagine any of them proclaiming that they were proudly feminist. As an image of the future of the country for at least the next three years – though anything can happen when Peters is added to the boil-up pot – it was hardly inspiring.
Coincidently, it has been announced that Deal or No Deal will be remade as Deal or No Deal Island, a mix of the original format … and Survivor. Doesn’t New Zealand politics already own the copyright on that show?
Over-spinning
On Monday, Luxon, henceforth to be known as the Great Negotiator, announced a “significant milestone” had been reached, apparently meaning that policy negotiations had concluded. After nearly six weeks of no deal, a deal had finally been done. There just remained the scrap over the allocation of ministerial roles, including deputy prime minister.
Act leader Seymour didn’t seem quite so sure about Luxon announcing the interminable wait for a government was coming to an end. “I can understand Chris’s enthusiasm,” he said when asked about Luxon’s announcement, “but I just suspect he’s had one too many Weet-Bix.”
It wasn’t the first instance of the Great Negotiator over-spinning his achievements. Having announced with a used-car salesman’s smile that he had vast experience in mergers and acquisitions, he came over all coy when asked what they were. The Great Negotiator wasn’t going to go into the specifics of what he merged or acquired as CEO of Unilever Canada – “a number of them” – or as CEO of Air NZ.
This was a woefully inept response and destined to send journalists on a hunt to find out. Thus far, the evidence for his mergers and acquisitions remains elusive. Perhaps while at Unilever he was involved in merging a pole cat and a skunk to create a new Lynx deodorant?
What was also unclear was what relevance these elusive mergers and acquisitions had for negotiating a complex political deal. Was the Great Negotiator planning to merge with Peters and acquire Seymour? Or the other way around? Or, are they acquiring him?
Luxon’s floundering has resulted in the incongruity of right-wing commentators joining in jeering their man when they should be celebrating the advent of the first Tory PM in six years. Political insider Matthew Hooton got his poison pen out in the Herald, writing Luxon had spent the past “five weeks reciting his vacuous and facile slogans that everything is just swell”. Hooton’s column was accompanied by a picture of the future PM with his tongue half hanging out of his mouth.
A cynic might have another view of the Great Negotiator’s performance: the near six-week wait for a deal means he will have less time to stuff other things up.
Foggy future
Were the leaders able to fly into Wellington to sign off on their agreement? At the time of writing, flight delays in the capital caused by poor visibility had created a massive wait-time. It sounds like the coalition negotiations. Of course it’s foggy in Wellington. It often is. Much like the future for this coalition. Before the election, Seymour was certain such a coalition couldn’t work, saying, “You can draw your own conclusions” about whether such a three-headed coalition would wobble. “Well, I think people have seen the track record of NZ First,” he said. Two months on, he has been sitting around a table with the man he formerly referred to as “this clown”. They weren’t exactly calling each other mate but they can apparently be in the same room without pulling faces across the table. This is what is called political expediency, and all parties practise it.
It will have been political expediency that was key to Luxon’s decision about the deputy prime minister. Though largely a sinecure – a deputy PM is on the job only when the PM is out of the country or incapacitated – the position’s chief value to the incumbent and his party is the symbolism.
In 2017, prime minster Jacinda Ardern gave Peters the deputy prime ministership, partly to put a big, red bow on her appreciation for him unexpectedly putting Labour into power.
Luxon will no doubt have had similar reasons for choosing his deputy. By the weight of numbers, it should have gone to Seymour; Act has 11 seats to NZ First’s eight. But it is Peters, as kingmaker, who has the whip hand in forming a coalition, just as he did in 2017.
Symbolism means both Peters and Seymour want the job, but only one can have it. Or maybe not.
As one commentator suggested, Peters could be deputy for one half of the three-year term and Seymour for the other. Or maybe it should go to both. Because, like any untested novice who’s just been made sheriff in a small, unruly town, Luxon will need as many deputies as he can get when the real shooting starts.
