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Remember when I said I'd have an update by the start of July? Well, here it is a month after that. To compensate, it's far, far too long. As usual, comments and questions are appreciated.


Billy didn’t have a lot to say,
He never ever spoke…


North Atlantic Ocean
July 29, 1984

The farewell had been a lot less enthusiastic than the welcome. There was no pageantry, no speeches, and hardly any acknowledgement that they’d spent two months on the other side of the world busting their arses in an irradiated hellscape to help the Poms shoot their own people.

The New Zealanders were leaving before any of them had a chance to get dragooned into heading over to Munich with the diplomatic mob sorting out what the brass optimistically called a peace treaty. Apparently, they’d already called it quits back home; the PM had told the nation that the war was over, and it had apparently occurred to Christchurch that it would raise awkward questions if they kept two hundred-odd troops needed at home away the hell over in England.

So, here they were, back aboard Taranaki for what the Lance Corporal prayed was the last time. He was throwing up about as often as on the ride up here, and was happy – between heaves – to blame that on the constant pitch and roll.

Pity it didn’t explain the nightmares. Still, you couldn’t have it all.

For one, the pitching and rolling was a more pressing pain in the arse at the moment as he staggered his way along to a meeting with the Major in the single cabin he got by way of a CO’s office-cum-quarters. The gunmetal grey corridors lurched at him as he clung to the guardrail and made his way down the stairs as gingerly as humanly possible. After what felt like an eternity broken up only by an awkward interaction with one of the Navy lads in the narrow corridor, he fell into the Major’s broom closet and just about into his lap while he was at it.

“Good of you to join me, Corporal,” he said impassively as the underofficer tried to regain balance and composure. The Major was an odd one like that, the Lance Corporal had found. You’d never see him smile at anything nor laugh nor joke, but his eyes had this weird glimmer which if you caught it seemed to be laughing or at least smiling knowingly at things. Maybe you just had to be crazy to be in the brass. You sure as hell had to be crazy to be in the Army these days.

“You –” an ungainly stumble against the wall “ – wanted to see me, sir?”

“I’ve heard from others in the company that you’ve been acting strangely for the past few weeks. Would you have any idea why that might be?”

“Couldn’t imagine why, sir. I reckon I’ve done my duties same as ever. I haven’t been reported for anything, have I?”

“Not formally, Corporal, no. These are more behavioural reports. Acting strangely in the sense of being distant, closed-off and what-have-you, whenever anyone brings up the tour. Though I did get one report from Sergeant Armstrong, who advised I raise the matter with you directly.”

“On what?”

“Apparently your magazine didn’t have any cartridges in it. Wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” He fixed the Lance-Corporal with a stare which could stop a missile in mid-flight. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we, Mudgway? You weren’t the only man to fire your gun in anger out here, Corporal; three other squads were present at those ‘low-level civil disturbances,’ and in every instance shots were fired to disperse crowds.”

“Food riots.” The Lance-Corporal shook his head in disgust at the sterile bureaucratic words, the Major giving a slow nod of agreement. “Fucking food riots. Sir. Old folks and women and kiddies who haven’t eaten in six months and have been lining up for a tin of beans and a hunk of that shitty bread every day since and they’re sick of it, sick of being treated like shit rather than human people.” The words were falling out in a clumsy heap now, and took him with them.

“I killed someone. A kid, he should be in school trying to get into bed with some girl who’s out of his league or playing cricket and stealing his dad’s beer, not trying to steal bread to stay alive. And now he’s dead, and I killed him, and what the fuck am I meant to do with that? Jesus, even in Porirua we at least got to pretend to be doing the right thing; here, I just…” his hands waved, grasping for words in the air. “You know what the worst part is, sir? Straight after it happened, with Zitnik and Scott and the, the others all standing about and waiting for me to tell them what to do, you know what the Poms did? They just got a couple of fellas over, dragged the kid away, and went right back to what they’d been doing.”

When he looked up to face the CO, his eyes were a little more red-rimmed than before.

“They didn’t even look at me. I thought maybe they were trying to stop a riot, which made sense; it was why I shot him, and that they’d get round to dealing with me afterwards. And they didn’t. Never said a word about it. The CO looked me in the eyes, told me to take the squad back to base, and left us to it. I don’t think it even got reported.” The Lance-Corporal blinked suddenly as a thought occurred to him. “Did it get reported?” he asked, almost hopefully. The Major closed his eyes and shook his head silently. Another question, the note of desperation all the keener. “Was I…” the Lance-Corporal licked his lips nervously, “Did anybody else…shoot anybody?”

From the look in his eyes and the set of his jaw, the Lance-Corporal knew the answer before the Major finished drawing the breath to sigh “No.”

“Fuck. It’s not right.”

“You did what was necessary at the time. Of course it doesn’t bloody feel right, but you knew that the alternative would have been a total loss of control –” the Lance-Corporal snorted, and the Major’s composure cracked a little more as he rolled his eyes. “Look, you can beat the shit out of yourself for it now, but you haven’t seen the reports I have, and the reality of the situation here, Bill, the real reality of all this, is that people have killed each other for a lot less than whatever that kid was trying to pinch. It’s bullshit that he died but think of the alternative.

“If he’d been let off, that crowd would’ve rushed you and don’t tell me they’d’ve let you be, Mudgway, because the Poms have a lot of nasty reasons for the shoot-to-kill orders. Half of their soldiers have probably seen their mates get their heads smacked in with bricks enough to see that there’s an unbelievably thin line between order and chaos. Those civilians would’ve torn you and the boys you’re responsible for apart. You saved their lives. Look at me, Corporal. You did what you had to.”

The final few words thudded into place with the finality of the grave. The Lance Corporal’s voice was rough and husky when he finally responded.

“With respect, sir, that doesn’t give me a lot to go on.”

The Major sighed, humanity peeking through again.

“Just…try not to think about it, Mudgway. You’ll be back in New Zealand in a few weeks. At least you’ll be on the other side of the world from where it happened. Dismissed, Corporal.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said coldly as he lurched back out into the hallway, narrowly missing a concussion on the way to the bunkroom. Trying to find out where his feet would land next gave him something to focus on in the moment, at least. It was just enough for now.


You turn your head, but isn’t the same
Well, it’s only all gone…


Christchurch, Canterbury
August 4, 1984

It had been a busy couple weeks, since the news from London about the impending end of the war. The Russians were soon to host their little peace conference in Munich and officially call an end to this madness, but the aftermath remained firmly present. The lines work outside Wellington had finally been completed, the resettlement programmes were getting along well enough, and while a simple infection would now probably kill you, you wouldn’t starve to death in the meantime.

Geoffrey Palmer, the man who had to sign off on all of this without necessarily getting any kind of say over its direction, knew at least enough to be sure that these milestones were about as significant in real terms as the paper being haggled over in Germany. People were dying regardless of the formal end of the bellum omnium in omnes. His brow furrowed as he stared blankly at the pattern on the curtains which could probably give an epileptic a fit. In omnes? Or was it contra omnes? How did that go? Either way, I daresay Hobbes has had quite the airing this year.

The Americans from the Roanoke and Merrill had been in contact with their comrades across the ditch, who’d put themselves under the command of the surviving American representatives present in Australia as the only representatives available of the civilian government. In turn, political expediency put them under Australian command, provided that Melbourne didn’t issue commands which clashed with the Americans’ last orders.

Not that there was any central authority with whose orders they might clash; the British claimed to have happened upon a continuity government in Colorado, but there were at least a dozen separate regional authorities trying to hold it together in various parts of the country, let alone the far-flung possessions and bases abroad. The American military overseas was largely left to its own devices and the last pre-Exchange orders received. Which gave New Zealand two more boats to play with in the coming –

The door clicked open and the PM jumped like a scalded cat as he span about to face the intruder, nearly snapping his cigarette in half between tensed figures. Palmer’s brows knitted together as irritation flashed across his features like lightning and David Lange stepped into his office.

“Afternoon, Geoffrey; didn’t know you were back on the ciggies. Thought you’d put the pipe to one side years ago.”

A wry, humourless smile met him in response as Palmer stubbed out the durry, just to prove that he could.

“If we aren’t dead men walking already from nuclear bombs and however much fallout has floated over from Australia, I scarcely think we have much to worry about a bit of tobacco.” Another momentary flash of emotion, closer to fear if the strained grimace was anything to go by. “Ah…don’t tell Margaret, alright? Now,” he said, all business again as he sat behind the desk, “you’ll be here for that report on Britain.” It wasn’t a question.

“Well, Commander McKirdy tells us the High Commissioner was in London, so he’s been working with Godwit – one of the consular staff who was in, ah, Oxford, I think, when the balloon went up, government or university business, I shouldn’t wonder. No time for a debate at the Union like the end of the world.”

“Be a little more specific for me when you say ‘consular staff’, David,” Palmer said, leaning forward. “I mean, that’s a broad term – I assume we had a fairly large staff in London, but “one of the staff” could be anyone from the charge d’affaires down to the girl who makes the tea; who exactly was gambling away our family silver?”

“McKirdy seemed confident in the bloke’s ability, apparently they’ve been calling him “Acting High Commissioner” since the original passed, so I’d assume either someone competent or someone who wasn’t going to argue with McKirdy’s own best discretion. Ah…as I recall, you did authorise him to cut a deal on our behalf if he didn’t think Godwit was up to snuff.”

“Yes,” Palmer said pointedly, shrugging off the blame for any possible consequences Lange had just thrown at him “and it appears that, whatever the case may be, it has paid off well either way. So, if the information I have is correct, we’re going to mount another joint mission with Australia, this time to Hong Kong.” A nod from Lange. “And I take it that this has been presented in a suitably diplomatic manner that it is not immediately apparent to Corsham that we’re mainly engaging in this so as to avoid the risk of a repeat of the Perth incident?”

“Well, given that the RN hasn’t wiped Melbourne off the face of the earth, I think we can pretty safely assume that Hawke was able to keep his thoughts to himself on that one.”

“Ye-es,” Palmer said at greater length, “I take it the Australians are still unhappy with the ransom, even having received them all in good shape?”

“Skinny, but in good shape, yes,” responded Lange absently as he fumbled for something in the recesses of his mind, “Hawke’s exact statements to his Cabinet haven’t been made clear to us, but I take it they’re undiplomatic, uncomplimentary, and untrusting.”

“Something along the lines of ‘if Corsham thinks they’re going to pull that trick twice, they’d best enjoy going hungry’, wasn’t it?”

“With one or two alterations for propriety’s sake, yeah. Fortunately, the British have been good little boys and let everyone who went over come back, so we’ll be playing with the same deck we sent over.”

“Good news, you mean? I thought we outlawed that some months ago.” Palmer’s joke fell flat, and he pressed on unabated. “In that case, was Frank able to get those briefing papers from the Navy on the logistics of the Hong Kong operation? How soon and how much can we send up there?”

“Simply put, the Navy isn’t shit-hot on the prospect of mounting two long-range missions within such a short time, especially considering the state of the waters north of the Equator, but between the Scylla and Charybdis of justifying their fuel allocation and the alternative of sending their boys ashore to sub in for the cops...”

“Yes?” Palmer’s face was impassive; he wasn’t going to get excited about anything short of the precise facts of the matter.

“Well, they’re inclined to go along with the Government’s order as soon as it arrives.”

“And when will that be, exactly?”

“Frank knows more than I do – I’m surprised you don’t, too – but the Waikato is being fitted for a sailing next month, and we’re using the American tanker for replenishment since the Aussies are still a month out from getting theirs back.”

“The Americans are content to go along with this?”

“Well, our own Crusoe in Tauranga wasn’t sold on it, but Towers pulled rank and told him to pull finger. Long story short, we’re going to pump them full of fuel oil and post a few Aussies and Kiwis aboard, as a sign of ANZUS cooperation, naturally.”

“Great,” said Palmer, massaging his temples with one hand.

“Stressful position, isn’t it?”

“If this is about the cigarettes, David, I’ve been taking one or two a day to help keep me going. The coffee’s absolutely frightful nowadays, and –”

“I meant in a broader sense; I can’t imagine how you keep going on with the job, Geoff.”

“Mm. Yes. Well, we all have to do our bit, I suppose. I can’t imagine any of us has been able to take much in the way of a break over the year.” Palmer shook his head. “It really has been all year, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, and you’ve been under more pressure than most. Christ, even Muldoon couldn’t cope.”

Ah. This game again.

“It helps that I’m not nearly as much of a micromanager as he is,” Geoffrey said as he spread his hands and looked Lange in the eyes, as easily as if he’d just commented upon Palmer’s tie. “Delegation, teamwork, being a figurehead: they all make the job so much easier.”

“Not entirely a figurehead, though; you’ve risen to the challenge admirably over the last few months, I must say.”

“Well, there are other challenges to come.” A questioning look from the Labour leader. The hook had been baited and swallowed. “You know, I’ve rather been thinking forwards, David. Sooner or later we will need to return to something approaching normality, and God knows I want it to be sooner; I am absolutely loath to use the unbridled powers I inherited from my predecessor.

“That means elections, which means addressing issues of how to democratically elect a House which represents the interests of the electorates of its Members.” He’d gone into lecture mode by now, and Lange could hear the capital letters thudding into place. “Now, I think it’s rather blatantly obvious that the status quo ante has become impractical in a number of spheres. First” the right index finger lain on top of its outstretched counterpart “the accuracy of voter rolls is now questionable thanks to the movement of hundreds of thousands of people and the death of I don’t even want to contemplate how many more. Second,” the index finger thudded onto the left middle finger “we are in something of a lurch due to the task of determining electoral redistricting based not only upon population changes and the likelihood that some electorates are no longer livable, but also the fact that many voters are unlikely to return to their previous homes and that we have no way of gauging that likelihood in any case. That brings us to the third point” the ring finger now “regarding the necessity of repairing and where need be re-establishing the infrastructure to hold an election. I’ve become convinced of the necessity of prolonging the term of this Government for another twenty-four months or so–”

“You want to stay in power for two years?” Palmer had to rein in a smile at the interruption, casting a pacifying wave of the hands and a look of honest horror.

“Dear God, David, no; I think we all know how little I want to be in this office as it stands. No, I want to postpone the resumption of the normal operation of Government – that is, preserve the Unity Government – until the results of the next Census come in. Which, if the Census is taken on schedule around March of ’86, gives us…oh, roughly June or July, if we want to account for the logistics of the matter in terms of collection, counting, collation, and compilation of results into updated voter rolls and pass them on to the Boundary Commission to see about updating the electorates to reflect shifts in population. I would consider November or so – the usual time of year for an election – of 1986 to be ambitious, though we’d likely have to delay that depending on the realities of the matter.”

“This…doesn’t sound like you’re stepping down until 1987, Geoffrey.”

“God no, no: this is the timeframe for the end of the State of Emergency. I’m more than happy – you know, I’d be positively ecstatic – to step down as soon as Cabinet establishes a schedule for that transition. What I have in mind to that effect is an interim election, to return Members to Parliament for the two or three years of that period and ensure that the Cabinet and Parliament have the legitimacy to back legislation passed during that time to ensure national survival for the remainder of the emergency period, but also set clear, concrete limits on the term of that Parliament. I’m…well, uneasy may be the diplomatic way to put how I feel about anybody governing by fiat of the EPA until they arbitrarily decide to revoke their powers; there’s far too much room for a commanding personality to come up with spurious reasons for prolonging their powers and position.”

“So what you’re talking about, essentially, is resigning later this year once we’ve got a popularly-elected PM, is that it?” A certain glint had come into Lange’s eyes. A lifetime ago, last year, Palmer had seen that glint at meetings about the prospects for the next election.

“Essentially, yes. My line of thinking is that electors vote for candidates representing the electorates where they were registered prior to February twenty-second. That accounts at least in the interim for those who have moved since then, and gives both parties the opportunity to hold onto what are – were, I should say – some safe seats.” A shrug. “Or, since most of them are Labour, we make a compromise with National to discount them since it gives us an advantage. Mind you, I can’t see why they should want to do such a thing, given that the alternative is having a lot of Labour-voting evacuees vote in provincial electorates. To say nothing of a few rather important Cabinet members suddenly bereft of democratic legitimacy.”

God help us, thought Lange, he’s been getting into the law journals again. What he said, however, was “So what’s your humble reward, Geoffrey? You said it yourself; you’ve got unbridled power, so what’s more appealing to you than that?”

“Besides getting out of this pantomime? Well, consider it, David: we have the chance to work with as close to a tabula rasa as we’ve ever had. The raw fabric of the constitutional framework has fallen into the capable hands of whomever should ascend to the top of the executive, to be woven into whatever shape they best see fit.”

Now it was Palmer who’d taken on a faraway look, and Lange realised that it wasn’t the law books he was thinking of, it was the history books. As his eyes came to rest upon a pile of unsigned orders and bills which had been swept through the slowly-regenerating bureaucracy, a further realisation twigged.

“Do you really think an election is practical in the next few months, though? Like you say, the constitutionality of it is all pretty malleable; surely it’d be simpler to hold off until we’ve ironed out all the creases.”

The PM cocked an eyebrow.

“Not keen on the poisoned chalice?” A harder edge tinged Palmer’s voice.

“Would you be, in my position?” Another grim smile came in response to that one. “Mind if I venture a different opinion, Geoff? I can see people understanding a delay in the election until things have returned to a more even keel. What I don’t think they’ll appreciate is being told all’s well, time to turn out and vote before we even know where half of you live. Look, I think we both understand that you’re here as a sinecure: you take the rap for the unpopular decisions. All of the Government’s decisions are made by committee these days, anyway; it’s not as if there’s a particularly partisan attitude anymore. Meanwhile, everyone else gears up for the next real election and tries to get themselves into the most advantageous position possible: the Nats try and wash off the war guilt – bet you anything they blame it all on Piggy – as we push you as proof Labour is capable of crisis leadership which represents all New Zealanders, some shit like that.”

“Then what’s preventing me from quitting tomorrow, David? You’ve said it yourself; I’m here as an amorphous non-entity who’ll rubber-stamp the decisions and be the fall guy for any of our short-term measures which don’t work out. Frankly, I’m just trying to pave the way for a legitimate successor to me to emerge so that I can get out of this damn office. I want to take it to Cabinet next week, make a case for at least an interim election, and see about getting put somewhere where I might actually be of some use.”

Silence fell as Lange pursed his lips in thought. Eventually, he spoke.

“Here’s a different deal. You go to Cabinet, present the first half of our discussion. I’ll get caucus behind you; that gives you majority support, more or less. At the same time, we let the Tories know that you’re revoking your membership of the Labour Party to present a non-partisan face to the government. I’m not sure how constitutional that is, but it was good enough for John Lee, it’s good enough for you.” David wetted his lips as he thought. “We then make it apparent to the Nats through back channels that you’re taking the fall for this government so that everybody wins in the next election and nobody gets tarred with the war guilt brush. We’ll hold off on attacking everyone post-Muldoon, they’ll hold off on attacking us for being your party. You weren’t a member until, what, ’79? It’s credible enough, yeah?”

Palmer blinked. “I suppose so. Burke would be proud. So what do I get to secure my compliance?”

“You said it yourself, Geoff, all that stuff about weaving the constitutional loom and shit like that. If you want to tinker with the constitution to preserve civil liberties going forward, and you’re happy to stay in place for the duration, caucus will back you.”

Palmer’s face was a picture of contemplation, hand stroking his chin thoughtfully.

“Let’s consider it. I’ll give you some time to get a feel for the atmosphere in the Party and see if we can get enough support for the idea. I’m worried about one or two on the fringes.”

“Well, I think the idea of an easy victory in two years – like you said, thousands of city-dwellers have been turfed into the wop-wops, and they won’t vote for the bastards who put them there whether we sling mud at the Nats or not – I think that that’ll sway a lot of them. There are also a lot of unpopular decisions to be made in the next few years, and better to be able to shift the blame onto the necessity for compromise than shouldering it ourselves. The right thing for the party and the country line up neatly.”

“Hopefully they do,” said Palmer, looking Lange dead in the eyes, “because I’m not sitting in this office for a moment longer than I have to unless you can get me that support.”

The conversation shifted briefly to exchanging more thoughts on the Hong Kong operation, and Lange stood to leave.

“By the way,” Palmer began as David turned to the door.

“Yes?”

“Happy birthday, David.”

Lange blinked, caught off guard.

“Ah…thank you, Geoff.”

Once Lange had left, Palmer leaned back in his chair and sighed, rubbing his eyes as a helpless smile broke out. That had been easier than he’d thought.

Where am I today?
And where have you been?


From Ayson, R., The End of the World at the Ends of the Earth: WWIII Leadership in New Zealand in Wherry et al., The Men Who Sold the World (Columbia [1]: Phoenix Publications, 2014): 210-247.




This chapter aims to present as honest an appraisal of New Zealand’s leadership during the Third World War as possible, and will try so far as possible to separate these controversial figures from their reputations. Although it became increasingly fashionable after the Sir Robert Muldoon’s death in 1987 to use him as a scapegoat for what happened during and after the war, the reality of the events from the transition to war through to the onset of reconstruction is far more nuanced.

At first blush, the events of early 1984 might seem to validate these accusations. New Zealand stood out prior to World War Three among the Western democracies for the centralisation of power in the executive, and for the relatively unfettered manner in which the Prime Minster was able to exercise those powers. Muldoon’s eight and a half years atop the machinery of government saw perhaps the most intense period of the amassment of powers by the executive, distinct from previous periods (as occurred following the Great Depression under the First Labour Government, or in the 1870s following the shift from a provincial to a unitary system of government) for the manner in which a single individual was able to completely dominate the decision-making process in practically every aspect of the New Zealand Government, those previous periods having shifted power to the collective of Cabinet rather than the individual personage of the Prime Minister.

All of this is a rather long-winded way of noting that Robert Muldoon was perhaps the most powerful head of government in the Western world in early 1984, when evaluated in terms of domestic institutional dominance. This was present years beforehand, with his control over economic policy responsible for the experiments in economic self-sufficiency comprising the “Think Big” programme of major energy infrastructure projects and the wage-price-freeze initiated in 1982. In the weeks and months preceding the Third World War these tendencies grew even stronger, with Muldoon’s insistence upon control over the minutiae of government becoming especially noticeable…

…also, of course, a point in his favour, as if his insistence on autarky was somehow a prescient exercise which foresaw the collapse of international trade resulting from World War Three. While an appealing narrative, particularly for his apologists, it is also wrong. While the idea that the war was inevitable is a popular one, particularly in realist analyses of international relations, this was not the motive undergirding Muldoon’s policies.

Instead, it is more appropriate to connect this to his almost pathological need to control what was happening, with his policies acting to mitigate variables beyond his control…

…addition to internal policies which these economic, social, and regulatory attitudes comprised, he also exerted considerable control over foreign policy, his attitude towards Britain clearly demonstrated by the quid pro quo wherein New Zealand implicitly supported its 1982 defence of the Malvinas/Falklands by sending New Zealand Navy vessels to patrol the Persian Gulf and free up Royal Navy vessels, reflecting Wellington’s continued self-identification with its old…

It is a fiction, however – a dangerous fiction, I might add – to offload all the blame onto those who are too dead to argue in their own defence. Despite three decades of careful obfuscation by those in charge during the months leading to and immediately following the Exchange, all those who took part in the decision-making processes of the Government of the day up to February 22, 1984 are complicit in what New Zealand did on the international stage. Moral support for Britain, the United States, and New Zealand’s other partners was forthcoming from both sides of Parliament, reflecting a deeper societal connection with Europe, to a shocking extent if one is accustomed to the present-day focus on the Asia-Pacific and the Indian and southern Chinese relationships…

…as the Labour-led Unity Government continued with the task of reconstruction, it also behoved the Lange Cabinet to shore up their rhetoric of a return to normalcy, as the end of the State of Emergency called by Muldoon and perpetuated by Palmer provided both a natural point of difference between the two governments and heralded a return to the partisanship which had characterised the pre-war era.

Colin James has written of “a stillborn revolution” accompanying the generation of leaders who succeeded Muldoon. I respectfully disagree with this opinion; while there was indeed a desire for radical change in that generation, I advance the argument that this revolution was made manifest in other ways.

Social change, a distant priority of most governments in countries hit by the Exchange, was both accelerated by the uprooting of the pre-war order and used by Lange and his contemporaries as a vehicle to reorganise the very shape of New Zealand society. A Human Rights Bill was drafted by Geoffrey Palmer and passed in early 1986 with provisions which included race relations legislation and the quiet decriminalisation of homosexuality. These reforms were not only intended to advance the provisions of Labour’s pre-war manifesto and thereby secure votes in the upcoming election, but to make clear that the government would not seek to use the extensive powers it had amassed to intervene in the private lives of citizens. This was particularly important because New Zealanders, even if not to the extent of Americans or British, often had little else to hold dear: identity and individuality, for all that pragmatists held that these were obstacles to orderly reconstruction in the lean and hungry years ahead, were an intangible commodity that gave citizens a sense of meaning in the day-to-day.

That is not to claim that the strides made in human rights by New Zealand were somehow a panacea for the very real crisis gripping the country, but neither is it to argue that they were simply a political expedient designed to…

...Ohakea had been the final blow. At that moment Muldoon was cut utterly adrift; the country and the Party to which he had dedicated his entire adult life had decided that they were done with him. He retreated abruptly into a complete obscurity none could have imagined even a year before, spending his time at Vogel House after the central government relocated to Christchurch and the Prime Ministerial residence followed. He gave precisely one interview, in mid-1985, and offered no public comment upon the progress of the Unity Government or the 1986 Election, the only windows into his thoughts coming from the recollections of those close to him and those of his private papers and diaries which his family have since released. It is likely that more useful insights will come with the release of the bulk of his writings in 2034 in accordance with his will, but for the time being we are left with a bleak picture.

In contrast, his adversary Lange has entered the history books as the upbeat leader who rolled up his sleeves and helped pull a nation from its darkest hour into the bright dawn of the postwar era, the avuncular face of reconstruction who came to outshine the de jure Prime Minister until he was duly elected in 1986. Muldoon’s death shortly after was a bitter, if apt, piece of punctuation heralding the break between the short- and long-term phases of Reconstruction....


Well, I don’t wanna see you around here
But I guess that’s all gone
Now it's all gone…