A Different Kind of Power
Jacinda Ardern
Macmillan, 2025
As I write, highly civilised human beings are flying overhead, trying to kill me.
George Orwell wrote that during the Second World War. Hold that thought.
I was very moved to read the memoir of the Right Honourable Dame Jacinda Ardern, fortieth prime minister of New Zealand. I’ve read many political memoirs, and biographies, mostly British, in my time. Many I admire; others, less so. John Wilson’s CB, A Life of Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman, (Constable London, 1973) is a favourite. CB was liberal PM between 1905 and 1908, and died in office, in No. 10. His tenure was, by and large, a time of tranquillity on the international stage, such that, every September, he would take himself off to Marienbad for six weeks and read German literature. Imagine a PM doing that now! (I wish they would.) R. J. Q. Adams Bonar Law (John Murray 1999) is another. Both CB and Bonar Law were modest men, despite the fact that they both attended Glasgow High School. Another modest man, frequently underestimated both in his own time and subsequently, was Clement Attlee. His autobiography, As It Happened (William Heinemann, 1954) is a fascinating read. Churchill called him a modest man, who had much to be modest about, and on another occasion, “a sheep in sheep’s clothing”. We tend to think that the rough and tumble of parliamentary discourse has today become devoid of kindliness, and much coarser. Yet it was ever thus. Lloyd George said of Churchill that he would make a drum out of his mother’s skin, in order to sound his own praises. Cabinets chaired by Churchill were said to be great historic occasions, but Cabinets chaired by Attlee got so much more done. He just got on with it. He ended his career as a Companion of Honour, with an Order of Merit. You may say he got his own back on his critics, when he composed a limerick:
There were few who thought him a starter,
Many who thought themselves smarter.
But he ended PM,
CH and OM,
An Earl and a Knight of the Garter.
Churchill himself of course dominates the whole realm of political memoir, and remains the subject of a seemingly inexhaustible supply of fresh biographies. There seems no end to the fascination he exerts. I’m currently reading Robert Schmul’s Mr Churchill in the White House, the untold story of a prime minister and two presidents (Liveright Publishing Corporation, 2024). Earlier, a remarkable insight came from his doctor, in Churchill, the Struggle for Survival, 1940/65 by Lord Moran (Constable London 1966). Many doubted whether, as Churchill’s personal physician, Sir Charles Wilson, Lord Moran, ought to have published these extracts from his diaries until perhaps 50 or 100 years had passed. But Lord Moran’s excuse was that Churchill was such a monumental figure, that the observations at first hand of somebody as close as an attending doctor must be invaluable. Perhaps.
More recently, I read Tony Blair’s A Journey, which seemed by and large to be a prolonged apologia for the Iraq War. I dodged Boris Unleashed. A step too far.
But Jacinda Ardern’s memoir is something totally different. What can I say? It describes a culture, a background, and a way of life that is recognisable, and recognisably “normal”. It is intensely familiar to me because I lived in New Zealand for thirteen years, in the North Island, and Dame Jacinda’s upbringing was in central North Island, in places such as Murupara, Te Aroha (Mount Te Aroha is the Mountain of Love, short for Te Muri-aroha-o-Kuhu, te aroha-tai, te aroha-uta), Morrinsville, Rotorua; and her subsequent political career predominantly unfolded between Wellington, and Auckland. So I can visualise her account, with sharp clarity. Her background is humble. Her father was a policeman, as was mine. And even although she attained the highest office in the land, at a very young age, she never lost her straightforwardness. She carried on shopping in Kmart. She once sent out to a local pizza place for a takeaway, to be delivered to Jacinda Ardern, Government House. She had to phone back when it wasn’t delivered. They thought it was a hoax. Her premiership happened to begin during early pregnancy, and her main preoccupation during the inauguration ceremony was not to throw up.
In New Zealand, the gap between the rich and poor, and between the powerful and the weak, is much less than it is here. The powerful are much more accessible. I knew a Minister of Internal Affairs, the NZ Home Secretary if you will, and I met Dame Jacinda’s predecessor, Bill English. I once pushed, apologetically, the hospital trolley of a very distinguished finance minister out into the corridor of our Emergency Department, because we had run out of room. He wasn’t in the least fazed.
Politicians in the UK are almost unanimously enthusiastic about the concept of “social mobility”. It is a manifestation of the idea that people deserve a chance to fulfil their potential no matter how humble their origin. The trouble with social mobility is that you offer people a chance to “move up”, or to move out, without questioning the whole structure of social class. But is it really better to be a hedge fund manager than a home help? I have a notion that Dame Jacinda would not think so. You can sum up the entire ethos of her book in one word: kindliness.
Not that she lacks an inner core of strength. But she learned how to channel her own perception of her weaknesses – impostor syndrome, anxiety, sensitivity, to turn them into strengths, and hence, a different kind of power. She needed that, to face the challenges of “events”, be they the Christchurch shooting, the White Island volcanic eruption, or Covid.
From the perspective of the Northern Hemisphere, kindliness is surely what contemporary political life lacks. The world remains in a terrible state, does it not. Ukraine, Gaza, the West Bank, Sudan, Lebanon, and now, Israel and Iran. Even as I write, so many people in the world might echo the words of George Orwell at the top of this piece. Plus ça change…
I think the leaders of the G7, currently congregated in Banff, should all read A Different Kind of Power.
jamescalumcampbell 