
About this episode
Given the current slew of valedictory speeches, The House looks at what is usually said in them, or perhaps more poignantly, what's left out.
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The House — Getting the last word: How MPs farewell Parliament. Machine-transcribed; use the interactive transcript above to jump the player to any line.
Hēko nai burangi te ne e nāte reo irirangi o a tearoa. Velditries tend to follow a rough template with MPs reflecting on what they've achieved during the time in Parliament, musing on the political mood of the country, and thanking or paying tribute to family, friends, staff, colleagues and even their political opponents. They often begin with the reasons MPs came to want to be politicians in the first place, like Duncan Webb. You do sometimes I think wonder in the Hurley-Berlie of this place, when you have any impact at all, and I certainly know that some of my constituents wonder that as well.
So you do, but it does make you reflect on why you came here, and I suppose that's what valid decrease are all about. And in fact, Mr Speaker, is your work in Christchurch that drove me to become a member of Parliament? LAUGHTER APPLAUSE I'm very happy to be an inspiration to you, Mr Speaker. Well, you did call me an ambulance chaser, and I might have called you a few things as well. But when I arrived here, the scars of Christchurch's earthquake were very real and raw. In my maiden speech, I said that on the day of the earthquake, the heart of Christchurch stopped beating. So, and what I drove me here, it wasn't a big policy goal. It was actually quite personal. And I still recall one incident that stood out, which was when an old, very old man in his 70s or 80s called my office and was really apologetic to trouble us, because he didn't really have any money. But he said he'd been living in a caravan in an East Christchurch in his backyard for two years,
because EQC hadn't come round to assess his badly damaged home, and he didn't have any sanitation, was that okay? And it wasn't. And that's one of the reasons I chose to come here. Then you might expect to hear a sort of highlight reel, which for those MPs lucky enough to have held ministerial portfolios, is usually focused on their time in the Beehive, as was the case with Shane Nettie. There are many highlights as Minister of Health to develop a policy and opposition for a third medical school and then bring it into government and actually start building. We'll change the landscape. It was a privilege to bring forward the biggest funding increase ever in cancer drugs. And I want to thank Farmac Health, New Zealand Ministry of Health and the many clinicians who operationalised it and the PM and Minister of Finance, who at the time simply said to me, Shane, you do the policy and we'll find the money. A real highlight was extending the breast cancer screening age group from 70 to 74 and I acknowledge the advocacy of colleagues,
Nicola Louise and a senior BSA expert in this room tonight. This was a policy worked on for many years, a policy formed in opposition, then having it drawn from the ballot box, then deferred reading and then implemented within a year of coming into government. But alongside the highlights, Veldictries can also touch on the disappointments and lowlights. Fax Mark Cameron, one of those, has been a premature retirement due to sickness. This place, you make it work because of your time and energy. My friends, I started my speech by saying life humbles us all.
My recent experiences can attest to that. I was the kid of five or six, who knew what he wanted to be, become a farmer, walk with giants, great kiwi, blokes, like my mentor Neil Sidwell and the likes. I was going to be that kind of man. I was going to carry the world on my shoulders, be all I could be. Sir, I remember fairly recently sitting in the chamber, house duty, nauseous, kidneys at eight percent. Most of you wouldn't have known this. I grew all left and I conceded that I was stuffed. How have this come to pass? People, what of the people I came to represent? I protested. Reluctantly went home. Dialysis commenced. It was May 2025. Man, I was pissed off. I had lost my boy to suicide and now this crap. Parliament is a people place and they gave me
purpose. I pined to be part of it. I needed to carry on. So I did dialysis and my flat and I went back to bloody work. In December, I suffered a acute heart failure. Boutil had become all too real. I was out. I was done. My transplant operation vanished and hope of returning evaporated. I prayed for context, understanding, shite hell, anything. My friends here, all of you, and I mean all of you, the debate, the challenge, the ideas, what it meant to be part of such a special group, so it has disappeared. I had to gravitate home. There are also other tribulations that tend to surface in Veldictories 2. In recent parliaments, there has been an increasing focus on the polarisation of the electorate, as well as the personal tax and criticisms MPs have faced. Nationals Paul O'Gharsia spoke about
the effect that political hostility can have, not just on MPs themselves, but also their family and the wider public. Parliament is a study in human behaviour and motivations. It is also a reflection of the public, instead of thriving in our shared humanity, some choose to condemn and divide. Language is weaponised, the foster hate and division, doubt and suspicion. Many of the public often the most vulnerable. Here words spoken in this house, take them and action that hate. I have had more than a lifetime's worth of profane gestures, and nastiness through my time as a member of parliament. I have always believed in a final judgement, not expecting that judgement happens here. For the first time in my life,
I was screamed at over the phone over a sustained period where a friend walking beside me exclaimed, wow, who was that? I've almost been run over Threaten, thrown cans at, attacked while in my car, my wife and I have had to move house. It isn't real until it happens to you. This takes an emotional toll for some more than others. It threatens our peace. I take from the words of a person I follow closely. Peace is not merely a political or institutional reality. It is the fruit of conscience where resentment and difference in hatred can either be escalated or reconciled. Words can open paths or close them. They can illuminate reality or distort it to the point of making and counter impossible.
I mentioned this in my maiden speech. Let hateful words be the undoing of those who wield them. We who hold public office have a special obligation to be mindful of our words. In order to disarm language instead of weaponizing it, firmness does not mean contempt. This agreement does not affirm hate. Allegeing the contrary is simply false and misleading. Respect cannot be demanded when it's not lived. It is in this respect for others that arises the duty to safeguard the space where their convictions, their conscience and their relationships, some involving a faith in God's life. In a few contrast of valedictory with a maiden speech, which is the first speech that every MP makes in Parliament, there's a palpable difference in tone. Fresh faced MPs tend to bring
a certain earnestness to their first speeches. Valedictory's meanwhile, particularly from veteran MPs, often have a more knowing, sometimes sadonic, quality to them. So yes, humour is almost ubiquitous. Perhaps because after years of having to take politics so seriously, a valedictory gives MPs one of their few opportunities to let their guard down. And there was certainly an abundance of self-deprecation and right humour and former deputy speaker Greg O'Connor speech last week, which was actually less speech and more rhyming verse. Many of the options, plenty of genres I could tap. I thought it might test the speakers' patience if I presented a day in rap. So bow out I do before you, a humbling number have returned the RSVP. Not all MPs are afforded this privilege. Many of Parliamentary exit is involuntary.
I arrived nine years past with all hardy-use blessing. They were the small enough margin that kept us to final count guessing. To the good folk of my electorate, I'll always remain beholden. Great local support does the MP on their behalf in Bolton. An electorate dominated by Mt Kaakao, the tower atop piercing the sky, which thanks to pest-free volunteers now has increasingly native bird cry. Being elected to this house and sitting up in the big chair has allowed use of the living and learning that's gone into the making of this grey here. However, lessons in schools learned before here only get us in the door. The real honing of one's political craft starts on this chamber's floor. Most arrivals, high achievers, and a desire to improve our world with a determination to stand apart when insults and vitrioles hold.
Such ideology seldom lasts beyond the first derisory interjection. The Aroha quickly melts away with U2 planned back in that direction. As members were well looked after, from the moment we walk in the door, anyone who thinks about them should observe what happens when they're not in the MP anymore. We have our own way of life, we have to own our way of life of history despite the world around us looking vexed. We have one life's lottery to be Kiwis, so let's make it better for those who come next. Over the next two weeks, we'll hear the Veldictries of Celia Wade Brown, Andrew Bailey, Maureen Pugh, and Brook Van Veldon. Of course, they aren't the only MPs who won't be returning to the 55th Parliament. You can choose to not give a Veldictry, as Chris Pink, for example, has done. But most of the MPs who won't be back and aren't giving a Veldictry will be those who are of course defeated in their literate seats and didn't make it back on their party list either.
Some of Australia's state parliaments have introduced rules allowing defeated MPs to return and give one last goodbye a bit of closure rather than leaving them with just the disappointment on election night and perhaps a despondent Facebook post. Whether that change will live or be proposed here remains to be seen, but for now, if you're leaving Parliament, there are two ways to go. You can go out in your own terms and get your speech, or you can risk losing your seat and having your literate right the ending for you. You do fock it on your quake at your footy, you've been listening to the House, a programme made with funding from Parliament's Office of the Clock. Matua.
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